In a bitterly cold subway channel, during a time when the ice was hanging stalactitic from the ceiling girders of the NYC Metro — and wind whipped so cold up the railed canyons of the running lines that eyes teared in the sheer intensity of the frost — I saw this tiny heart.
It was so diminutive, placed there on the rail line, that it was quiet as litter.
But surely there was a heart.
And I was thinking of that — the remote and distant love, being on the road, far from that one, the closest friend, that still in recollection brings the heat of contemplation — memory served and cherished.
I’m not big on the notion of
“Valentines” — and the Hallmark brand of the day — but I am large on the symbolism of the ancient heart, that drawing which even might be found as a scratched missive in the graffito of antiquated Rome, and still further back in time.
I think about the making of the heart, two fingers, drawing at the same time, that form that symmetry of the fullness of being (in love) — which can be passion, which can be affection, which can be madness, which can be made.
But the heart is true, whether it lies in the love of the work, the practice of being, the craft of making, or the celebration of connection to another being — or the spirit that lies within.
A heart is a heart, unforgettable.
T | Vancouver, BC
Passion, made: http://www.girvin.com/blog/?p=3165
THE STORY OF PASSION: BRANDS(LOVE) IN FOCUS