9.

every journey
is yet anouther
spiral, in the spin

tsg

A Love of Wild Trees, the last of the series

Meditations on the tree, that is not a tree…

And this is the tenth in a series, of ten, from http://tim.girvin.com/Entries/index.php.

A pine grove | Decatur Island

When I contemplate this series, writing about trees, ten times — and the reflections that lie there: the time, the places, the travels — there is one tree that is absent, and comes forth to my mind, and my memory, now. The sense of the grown grove is deep in memory — but what grove, recalled?

A bamboo grove, Kaua’i, Hawai’i.

And it’s not a tree, in the normal understood sense of a coniferous — or a deciduous — wood-branched growing entity. It is a tree, in the evergreen sense of the word. It is a standing stalk, more like a grass that grows as tall as a tree.

Bamboo.

And I couldn’t have this long series of thoughts about my love of the wild, the tree, and the places that these live in together without contemplating the power of bamboo.

To botanical taxonomy, bamboo is a group of woody perennial evergreen plants in the family of grasses, the Poaceae, member of the subfamily Bambusoideae, and the tribe Bambuseae. Some of its members are the tree-like giant timber bamboo, forming by far the largest members of the grass family — but grass, on an outlandish and anciently-defined, if not prehistoric, scale. Bamboo in groves, doesn’t feel like grass, but a forest of other plants. Ancient plants.

If one thinks of trees as woody natural forms that transport nutrient fluids up from the roots (rhizomes or otherwise) into a leafy photosynthetic system for life sustenance, then bamboo fits into the tree category.

Bamboo is very special; it is the fastest-growing, wood-stalked plant in the world. Imagine a plant that you can watch grow, at more than six inches per day. And perhaps you have seen bamboo that was one height one day — and the next, it is standing taller than you, your original sighting. I’ve seen both.

And when it comes out, the burgeoning growth — the opening “shoots” of bamboo are bizarre, extra-terrestrial forms of tendrils; they pierce outwardly, coming up through the earth, in ground that the plants have wholly changed, converting the chemistry of the landscape comfortably to get their measured nutrient and ecosystem.

Working in a bamboo grove, I’ve heard the bamboo creeping and crackling, alive, out of the soil. I’ve stood in the green shadows of the forested grove, and watched it move — slow in the heat.

Or during a wind or raining thunderstorm, I’ve heard it clacking and groaning, like a mysterious collection of ghosts, smacking and cracking the stalks like demon drummers. And if you’ve been in a gale, in a bamboo forest, you know it’s something unforgettably sensate — the thoroughness of the captivation.

The scent, the swirling leaves, the sound clattering, the raspy smooth touch of the wavering trunks, even the taste of bamboo, that can be in the air. The experience is whole.

But that comes from time — and enthrallment — in bamboo. From jungles in Costa Rica, to Cambodian snake-filled swamps; Yogjakarta temple compounds to…

and Moroccan YSL-memorial tenderness, to royal groves in Hawai’i; from mountainous, wintering bamboo, in the chilled, ice-bound groves of Ni’igata and Hokkaido, Japan, to the harvested forests on Java.

Loving the space of trees, the wild ones — softening sea-born pine warrens, hiking vales of cedar, quaking aspens, millennial redwoods, climbing giants, painting gnarled wonders, silkscreening plastic panels, researching the tree at the end of the world — that tree which lies in the center of things — and journaling experiences, bamboo forest collections — in, and among, these places, it’s been a journey.

Here are the sequences, in case you missed one:
1. The tree prints | 1979
2. Tree climbing
3. Treehouses
4. Drawing trees
5. The Oldest Souls in the world
6. Being in the place of trees
7. The Tree of the World
8. A Love of Wild Trees (others)
9. The tree of my dreams

tsg | pike place market
—-
References:
Buildings: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22934387/wid/18298287/
http://www.journallive.co.uk/north-east-news/todays-news/2008/07/18/light-show-to-celebrate-world-s-largest-bamboo-bridge-61634-21362860/
Culture & heritage: http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/2004/04/13/stories/2004041300110900.htm
http://kauai.net/bambooweb/whybamboo.html
http://www.mastergardenproducts.com/bamboo.htm
http://www.americanbamboo.org/index.html
Japan: http://www.snowjapan.com/e/features/niseko-magic-8.html
Science: http://www.sciencedirect.com/science?_ob=ArticleURL&_udi=B6T6X-4M7CMF9-2&_user=10&_rdoc=1&_fmt=&_orig=search&_sort=d&view=c&_acct=C000050221&_version=1&_urlVersion=0&_userid=10&md5=22e3b4bc5956f18153555b161e806cff
Imagery: http://www.flickr.com/photos/23140499@N07/3133322440/

what rises, will fall.

as you might know, now, my computer was stolen in the office, yesterday. People all around. In, there, out. Some people saw this person, connected and tried to escort him away — but he seemed to know a lot about me — card in hand, P&G connection, etc. But what he did seem to gather was more about what was lying around, and how quickly to improvise a story based on what he found.

A good skill, I suppose, that quick-on-your-feet savvy….

But, very bad for me. Days of work, thousands of images, lots of cool and newly organized files, special and newly invented presentations, inspirations and lustrations — lost.

They’re gone, now.

And I’m struggling to begin again. Start over.

At least no one was hurt.

That’s the best thing, really — everyone’s okay. Do the work and get back to it.

Stacking stones. Sure, they’ll come down again, but it’s the instant that they are up, that’s good. There’s pleasure in re-arranging them again. I’ll focus on that.

Happy Christmas Eve.

All good. All ways.
tsg

In the dark

TSG | d e c a t u r i s l a n d

Contemplating the tree of my dreams…

And this is the ninth in a series, of ten, from http://tim.girvin.com/Entries/index.php.

There’s one tree that figures repeatedly in my imagination. It’s the tree in front of my house on Decatur Island, which is located north of Seattle by about 75 miles. In Seattle, I live in a small condominium that is an old schoolhouse, built in the beginning of the last century. It’s called the West Queen Elementary School and it was refurbished for living, decades ago. It’s more of a scholar’s studio, laden with books and objects from my travels, working around the world. So it’s more of a workspace. The island house is just that, a house; however, it’s where I live. There’s a studio attached that allows me to work, resolutely, pretty much all the time.

This is a special tree, not old, a pine — that acts as a kind of fulcrum to all the experiences that are evinced in this northerly, more rugged, storm-driven realm — a rock cast in the sea channel of the San Juan archipelago.

The tree and the southern cairn:

tsg | decatur island
—-
Decatur, Queen Anne, the islands, the house:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Decatur_Island
http://maps.google.com/maps 1401 5th Avenue West / Seattle, WA
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Juan_Islands
http://www.millerhull.com/htm/residential/island_cabin.htm

Second in the series: Part One

Isn’t it so, that there’s a symbol that continuously finds itself representing, to you?

The Grand Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco

For me, aside from the Raven, it’s the knot. And like the one nestled below my neck, above, I’ve created them, had them made, and worn them for a long time. And I’ve come in contact with the knot, all over the world. Of course, in Mongolia, Tibet and Bhutan, the knot figures as an important element in spiritual connection. During my college years, I studied the knot in the Celtic and Lindisfarne traditions, as another decorative and deeply symbolic form of contemplation and worship. For the knot is the “endless” or “eternal knot.” And, in that exploration, the Islamic world has perhaps the deepest legacy of application, yet the scarcest registration of meaning. It is an archetypal symbol, and long prevalent as a motif of the intertwining opposites, in a perpetual non-conclusion.

It’s been described as “an ancient symbol representing the interweaving of the Spiritual Path, the flowing of Time and Movement within That Which is Eternal. All existence, it says, is bound by time and change, yet ultimately rests serenely within the Divine and the Eternal.” Attributes of the symbol are:

• The inter-twining of wisdom and compassion.
• Interplay and interaction of the opposing forces in the dualistic world of manifestation, leading to their union, and ultimately to harmony in the universe.
• The mutual dependence of religious doctrine and secular affairs.
• The union of wisdom and method.
• The inseparability of emptiness (shunyata) and dependent origination, the underlying reality of existence.
• Symbolic of know symbolism in linking ancestors and omnipresence and the magical ritual and meta-process of binding.
• Since the knot has no beginning or end it also symbolizes the infinite wisdom of the Buddha.

But, given the fascination with the symbolism of the knot, and of weaving — the interlacing of warp and weft, heaven and earth, the known and the unknown, the solid and the formless — I ponder the meaning of the knot in the context of a remarkable form of art in the Islamic festival of celebrating spirit. Geometry, given its non-illustrative character, is a predominant decorative them in Muslim art, usually dominating other ornamental motifs. The application of geometry, as a decoration, appears both in architecture and in the applied arts: ceramics, textiles and in the arts of the book. Regardless of material, scale and technique, the motifs used are practically always the same.

According to the specialists at Discover Islamic Art, “Muslim artists did not ‘invent’ geometric decoration, but they developed it to its fullest potential. The achievements of the Muslim world in geometric decoration were made possible to some extent by the interest that mathematical studies, such as Pythagorean mathematics, generated in Islam.

This is evident in the geometric knot, inherited from pre-Islamic decoration, which was developed into complex combinations of intertwining ribbons or knot-work. Starting from the circle, an extraordinary variety of figures were generated (squares, diamonds or rhombuses, hexagons, octagons, stars with six-, eight-, ten-, twelve- and more points) by applying the principles of symmetrical repetition, multiplication or subdivision on any material and any scale.

Images from the Grand Mosque, Casablanca:

The wealth of colours and the skill used to combine different tones help the compositions to stand out, creating the illusion of several different planes. Three-dimensional effects were used to enrich compositions, either through the repetition of motifs (such as the sebka pattern created from a network of diamond shapes), contrasting textures or the widespread use of muqarnas (known as muqarbas in North Africa) a three-dimensional geometric stalactite-like decoration.

Geometric motifs, occasionally based on abstractions from the natural world, also have a symbolic meaning in keeping with the function of the object or building — and in any application, these interweaving applications bespeak the creation of a kind of geometric “breakdown”, or analyses, of the physical world, transformed to the ethereal realm of contemplation. Perhaps it’s the cartography of physical space, translated to a new dimensionality of comprehension. A door to another world…

But, to my review and research, there’s nothing more that describes this character of ruled and demarcated mapping of space, making place — magical.

To the context of explorations, see these images for more, and let me know what you are showing, in terms of your own ideas and interpretations.

TSG | Casablanca, Morocco

References:
http://books.google.com/books?id=CQRWnf2JflQC&pg=PA75&lpg=PA75&dq=symbolism+of+weaving&source=web&ots=Hrv6CFKCgQ&sig=xsAbBdF53ugYPOu7FHZYDPz4d5s&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=4&ct=result
http://www.theweavercode.com/weaving.htmlhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Namkha
http://www.cosmicknot.com/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gordian_knot
http://books.google.com/books?id=o0aQMlFX8ugC&pg=PA115&lpg=PA115&dq=symbolism+of+weaving&source=web&ots=iYSE22BvGz&sig=WtVOB_qqnY7YKSts4sfdsb_Qntc&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=1&ct=result
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celtic_knot
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashtamangala

You just never know. 

Meditations on exploration and the beauty of being lost, and finding again. 

As much as you think — “it will go this way” — it just might not. 

And that way that it does go, it seems, just might be the way that it is meant to be. There are paths, that we think we are on, but then again, we might be on another path altogether, that takes a while for us to see, in the midst — and the mist — of our travels, where we are going. 

In finding myself exploring at the edge of civilization, sometimes — and I mean that in a couple of ways — I find myself being “lost”. Sometimes, working, you might think that you are actually not “civilized”, but merely working hard at the edge of it. Sure, civil — but really, is this civilization? 

And there might be other times, that you are out there far enough, high enough, remote enough, that you realize, just for a moment, that you don’t recognize things — you are, in a moment, another world. 

That could be: 

A instant of unexpected silence.
A turn in the trail, that is unexpected or forgotten. 
An instant, when the known suddenly has become: the unknown. 
When the Raven calls, and you think he’s calling you. 

It’s like: “I’m not sure where I am”. 

And I believe, in a way, that those moments are really important — for each of us, in our own ways. I mean, it’s important to be lost to the degree that you’re wondering: “where I am, anyway?” That question, of course, should be asked. And then, explored.

I think it’s crucial for each of us to be lost for a minute, an hour, a day, or two, in our passages as human beings. And coming around the sun, one more time for each of you, it’s a good thing to consider: it’s okay to be lost. Because the only way you can be exploring anything is that if you are lost. If you’ve found it, then what are you doing? 

Tonight, walking for what seemed a very long time, in the cold night of Moroccan air, wind blowing, winter chill, all around — as I was looking in circumspect — I thought, I’m not sure that I know where I am. But I like it. So, being calm in being lost — being in that state of un-navigated exploration, it’s a good thing. You can be lost, because you always must be exploring. Even an experienced navigator is only guessing — estimating with some certainty —  about where they are; it’s all based on what’s available to create that sense of placement. But, with a little mist, that selfsame expert might not have a clue. 

In the High Atlas, the range of mountains that is several hours from Marrakech.  Balancing this group of stones, overlooking a village that only recently got its electric power, that was completely washed out in a mudslide, whole families vanishing — only several years ago — I recalled: that you just never know. 

Things come, things go. In every thing. 

You think that you’ve created something that’s pretty balanced, but then again, it might fall over in the next ten minutes, or ten years later. 

It is best to savor that moment of relished equality — and to know, well…this is nice, but it just might be for a moment or two. 

Better to not worry about that. Just be in it. 

Everything changes, so it’s better to be moving onwards, being out there — look, but don’t stare, and stride onwards. It’s good to ponder these things — (or, better said, this has been my line of meditation today.)

That: 
– now is the time of exploration — whether inside one’s self or in the perimeter, it’s good to be out there, investigating*, looking for trails. 
– now: out there could be a moment’s meditation, something that is just outside the familiar, within your self, or merely several feet away. Or, it could be 48 hours of travel away…
– now there are things to be discovered — in each of us, for each of us, in sharing with each other. 
– now we’re on a track, we’re looking for something that we might’ve left behind; it’s recalling what might have been forgotten, something that is a thread, a vestige, in you. 
– now, there are still places on the earth, that no matter how hard the modern world tries to come into them, there are wild spots underfoot, where the unfamiliar reign, and you can be easily lost. 
– and that now, it’s important to realize that life is all about that idea of trying to find that thread, that note, from which it (you) all began in your own heart.
– and finally now, when you are lost, all you have to do is find your self again. 

What about that, that idea — anyway (literally, anyway… wherever you might be going!)? 

What I’m contemplating, in this time of change for us all — in particular, coming round the bend, yet again, that it’s always good to think of your self as a perpetual explorer. And I believe, for each of us, that this presence is already well in play. 

But being here, late at night, some glimmer before midnight — and thinking about what I might offer, that’s less than the usual Girvin mysticism — is the real of being here, and finding that beauty in just realizing, and being comfortable in, being lost — knowing that change and exploration are pretty much the way that they need to be, and that things will — in all likelihood — not necessarily come out precisely like you’d hoped, but they will come out. 

And there you go. 

*explore | c.1450 (implied in explorator), “to investigate, examine,” from L. explorare “investigate, search out,” said to be originally a hunters’ term meaning “set up a loud cry,” from ex- “out” + plorare “to cry.” But second element also explained as “to make to flow,” from pluere “to flow.” Meaning “to go to a country or place in quest of discoveries” is first attested c.1616.

vestige | 1602, from Fr. vestige “a mark, trace, sign,” from L. vestigium “footprint, trace,” of unknown origin.

Dedicated to the celebration of my father’s and my brother’s birthdays, both explorers in their own right. 
—-
tsg | the atlas mountains | morocco

…was of this magician and healer, likely Tuareg, and surely from the Sahara. I took this picture, then tried to get closer to another healer | storyteller type, and the camera was knocked down to the brickwork in an ancient courtyard or jemaa — in the jostling crowd — and she never woke up again. And I surely tried many techniques, trying to wake her up. 

While there’s no pronouncement against taking pictures, some people simply don’t like it. And they’ll tell you so. Or, they’ll glare, which is, clearly, telling you so. If someone didn’t want a picture taken, even with the snap-lightning techniques I’d developed, they’d do something like this: 

And of course, I wouldn’t take the picture. Except in this instance, I already had — speaking of lightning. 

Personally, my reaches are more to the moment; I’m not trying to set people up, play them, con them or abuse them — even pay them, (though I did have to do that), or finally, in any manner, bother them, in their workaday world. But the imagery is simply unrelentingly astonishing — the colors, the character, the timeless quality of the people. What you see is what you get. And if you see, you cannot help yourself. 

It’s because I love them, that I shoot. And it’s because I love the art of photographing people in place, that I’m driven to risk gathering these images. And finally, of photographing place, in the context of people, that draws me further in…

But this camera, that’s taken me around the world a couple of times, and lasted for at least a couple of years, is now…

dead. 

And no, I don’t believe that I was cursed in losing my camera. Just trying to get too close in a crazily chaotic and lively scene — seen. 

heading to Paris, soon…

tsg | casablanca | morocco

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sometime back, in October, there was a group of wild turkeys, that came to visit me. And while they are normally very reticent about being close to people, these were friendly.

I called to them, they came, and stayed for some bread.

They gathered just up from my house, next to an installation I call Manjushri. This is a shrine — it’s an old stump of a snag that actually collapsed on my house. After the tree fell on my house, I was thankful that it (my house) was still there, so I made a kind of shrine out of the stump, remembering. There are a collection of Bhutanese Manjushri wooden swords of knowledge gathered on the shrine. And you find these in the high mountains, on the grounds around prayer flag sites and pavilions, in Bhutan http://tim.girvin.com/Entries/353.

Around the turkeys, you can see the tips, pointing like arrows, upwards from the stump shrine. In the mountains of Bhutan, these are capping points on the top of prayer staffs that hold the flags of prayer — once they fall, you can pick up the Manjushri swords, made of wood and painted…

I’m thank full, for that visit.

Happiest thanks, giving.

tsg | marrakech @ the riyad al moussika | morocco

Marrakech –

The realm of Islam, in beauty: