Friday, May 25, 2012
at May 25, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
I can feel the silence at my back, calling me to shake it loose from its cage. Not yet. I listen to nothing. It tells me all. The restitution for living is in the stillness of silence. It bares witness to my thoughts and reconciles them with peaceful solitude. One thought, one moment; separated by the emptiness of quiet.
Gone! Time to move.
Manring, Metheny, Mehldau caress the walls with rhythms. Soft and warm. The silence is broken. Not broken, stirred; gently. Notes split the air and leave the space between for long enough that it can be heard again. I search for the silence again. It's there, blending with the life of noise. Its music and I am surrounded by it. It will keep me company through the day until the dust is disturbed once more and the silence rests until tomorrow.
at May 22, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
'Have you locked the back door?' is a catch cry of any neighborhood in the late of any evening, before we settle to our slumber.
It is our guardian.
at May 20, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Every time we move forward we cross over from one place to another. There is no going back. Time has taken care of that. From the old to the new, the physical, mental and social destinations beckon us forward. Our vision provides us with a new perspective, new dreams, new friends, new adventures, new space to stretch, strengthen and test ourselves. If we look back we see the old; changing, shrinking like the streets of youth. We might look longingly or with rejoice at moving away but we cannot go back and change that. It will change without us.
The gap in between is sometimes shrouded from our vision. Times of torment, trepidation, anxiety, mistakes, learning and re-learning are easily forgotten as the new adventures spread out before us like a carpet of new grass. Without the space between we have no past and there is no future. We all must pass through somewhere. Others will see it for you and fear for you. They will want you to follow their path. Be guided, but draw your own map. Take water from them and eat from their basket; then welcome them into your world on arrival. You may be on your own but you are not alone.
With a single strand of reed from a billabong and a few jars of paint, Eric is able to weave a tapestry of his life and that of his country and ancestors in a slow and patient rigor that is beyond most of us. When he paints he is painting for a culture, his family and his decendents. The image forms is clear in its meaning. The story is as old as his culture. It is his dreaming which was that of his father and his father's father. His son's will dream in the same vivid way: he hopes.
He also paints for the tourists. He, like all artists, need to eat as well.
Friday, May 18, 2012
at May 18, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
'I bet he practices a lot'
'If I had some money I'd give it to him'
'The music is free. Go tell him you like it. That's free as well.'
The young man smiles at the guitar player and the guitar player smiles back.
This can only be the remains of an event that is far from my understanding. A child's game, a rendez-vous, a grollo for prayer, a pile of refuge. I have not doubt that whatever it is it is of great importance to the people involved. This is no accident. Great care has been taken to ensure everything is in its rightful place and on leaving, nothing remains except the objects of play, pray or lay.
I can't disturb this. This has memories that will outlive me.
We all have our sacred places. Please do not disturb.
Its such a graceful process; drawing. Each line so purposeful, so meaningful, so delicate. It is as though the face grows from the end of the pencil and spreads like oil on water over the paper. Tones appear from no-where, form and structure blend in harmony. The actions of the drawer are equally harmonious but with an added tension and intensity that takes them away from where I am, causiously watching the miracle unfold, and to a place they can call their own. What entices them to do this? Are they doing this for us? I doubt it. This is their world where they can create order out of madness. They can mirror the world as they see it. We need to stand back and observe. Our task is to admire and not to interfer.
How I wish I could draw.
I guess I will just stick to taking photos.
Eggleston can help us all see what we miss.
I do know how you feel. Trust is everything. Some days I wish I could fly.
Maybe tomorrow I can get a bit closer.
Number 90 is telling us: 'Move on. There is nothing here that concerns you.'
It's called a vacuum cleaner and the act of using it is called vacuuming.
My sister brought a young man home to meet my parents many years ago. My father said her appeared to have the intelligence of a vacuum cleaner. The young man must have had a retractable chord for I saw no sign of a 3 pin plug protruding from his rear.
The fishing boat rises and falls on the turbulent blue-black sea. One moment I see it, riding high. The next it is barely visible...
What's it like to be someone else? To be young, thoughtful, blessed With possibilities, most probable, ready For all that life can o...
My thoughts are elsewhere, moving faster than I, with more grace and determination. The thoughts move in the past where a young man ling...