Where to? The art of being lost and finding your way
THE WAYFINDER'S ART. THE DESIGN OF SIGNS. Where to? The art of being lost and finding your way. I WAS LOST, NOW I AM FOUND. What of the emotionality of that experience -- I'm lost? I'm found. I'm finding my way? Pleas of positioning and geographic self consciousness. "I really don't know where I am. That's not a problem, look at the signs." I contemplated the concept of placeless-ness. There is the homeless, and there are the placeless. They have no where to be. Spending time in Miami,...
THE METAPHOR OF THE LIGHTHOUSE
Over time, I've been thinking about the idea of a construction being -- a place made -- built as a allegory of something bigger -- a larger symbolic idea. The idea relates to ancient symbolism for architecture -- it's never just a building, it's surely far more... But I'm not talking about sacred space (however powerful and impactful that might be) -- I'm thinking more, in the opening utility, the idea of the symbolism of more directly "useful" environments and constructions that sustain...
THE HEART OF GLASS
My Mother, in her ineffable gathering and gifting, passed along this small piece of glass, worn and earthen, one side, polished and melted, another -- like the beached glass of old bottles, white glass, blue and softened hints of pastel colorations (and in hidden places, still polished and reflective). I put this outside, since it seemed better to be getting more weathered -- and out in the sun, aging more, than being cherished inside, and I knew that my Mother would like that -- the gift that...
VEINS OF LIGHT
Some time back, I'd gathered a grouping of enormous leaves -- maple leaves, from hight into a mixed and old forest group, pushing into the inward channel side of the Olympic Mountains range -- from there, leaves fell -- forming a crisp yellow tapestry in the midst of a dark forest - the mist from the cascading river, rising up and roaring a background to everything that I was sensing: - cold mist, shadowed lumens - scent of moistening leaves, mosses, trees wet -- mushrooms - taste of iced...
LOVE INTIMACY
I was talking about love, charting ideas, exploring concepts at a client meeting; this was today -- the notion of being connected, let's say for now, spiritually, in a powerful and compelling way - that way of "in" being "in" -- being connected to someone in a manner that is psychic, aligned, linked -- synchronous, at the nexus. During that presentation -- there was that attachment, the idea of enchantment, engagement, and enthrallment. Being -- in the state of thrall, that idea of being...
THE STORM KING
THE STORM KING I was thinking about the storm, that's been screeching up the canyon, winding through the forest channels, and up the long range of the south, coming up Brigantine Bay, running over the top of South Lopez Island. It was a long night - of noise and distraction and dreams. The window was open - cold crept. I was dreaming about the day -- what was said, what shall be, where the imagination shall run. Like the wind, like the wind. Still, as the storm emerges, just for the instant --...
THE SENTINEL
Today has been a day of meditation -- while there's been good, to the examination of outcomes, it's been a sad day as well. I think about passage - those that have been before. Brother -- Matt L. Girvin. Former wife --Kathleen A. Roberts. Friends. Others emerge in the recalling -- and I think of those that have been affected by these passing moments -- lives, snipped. I look out. I contemplate. I recall. I think about passage -- the movement -- in the context of one person in particular, whose...
The silver blades | N E W M E X I C O
Out there, in the place that one might least expect it, there's a spinning silver of the bladed windmill. Some of them reach to storing power -- and have been, for decades before the large whirling windmills that array on farms, the landed plains, mountain ranges -- even far out at sea. But these have been spinning for a long time -- here, in the states, the old wind "generators." Simple, but still working. When I was young, I used to climb them -- nearly all of them that I saw, and those on...
The art of seeing closer: the magnifying glass
The art of seeing closer: the magnifying glass and the imagination of the ant SEEING CLOSER ..... When I was little, I put my head on the ground, in the grass, pretending I was an ant. I'd drag my head along, moving through the close earth. I carved tunnels and underground kingdoms, thinking that I could see into other worlds, with wooden matches, or birthday candles, these chambers would be lit, firelight. One imagining, another. I have a collection of magnifying glasses -- some new, many...
THE TOAST THAT CHEERS
When you hold a glass upwards and clink with another, the point would be -- "what, exactly, are you doing?" I've thought about that -- being someone that doesn't drink -- what really is the point of that effort, the convivial "clinking?" I wonder, does it relate to the celebration of living, of "having water" to drink - survival? What could toast be, to the nature of the word? I think of Douglas Harper -- ask him, his take: "a call to drink to someone's health," 1700 (but said by Steele, 1709,...