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I hope to make pictures like I walk in the desert-- under a spell, an instinct of motion, a kind of knowing that is essentially indirect and sideways.
What do the eyes rest upon -- mind disengaged, heart not -- that combines senses and affection into a homeland?
(B)lue, terra-cotta, green. Sky, stone, life.
(T)he river celebrates things we forget how to celebrate: our own spirits, the eternity of all things.
(T)he serenity of being beside a river induces an intensity of awareness that is inflammatory; one moves from languid calm to burning ecstasy in an instant.
It is as if there is no air or stone here, only light.
In solitude you strip yourself bare, you rest your mind on what is essential and true.
The river draws off my madness and calms me.
I am an obligate species, obligated to have this river. I can match this life to its shape. Perhaps then I might learn something.
Slowly, the senses had a way of overtaking the mind so that the perfume of clifforse could push me into a realm of sheer pleasure.
I was seized by something that could never be wrestled down, a feeling not unlike sorrow and ecstasy compounded.
The wind rakes our hair and we see so many stars at night, I fear that merely by watching them we will lose all moorings and float upward into the deep, silent light.
I liked the drums pulsing inside my head until they seemed to drive my own blood through my veins, and the way the dance arenas opened to a sky soon to be strewn with stars like seeds cast from a gourd-- some radiant combination of things so acutely visual and physical that you understand more easily what it is you love.
The desert gives an unsettling sense of the largeness of the universe in relation to the self.
"Here the immensity, the emptiness, feeds the spirit, and leaves it with no hunger for anything but more space, more light-- as if one had suddenly glimpsed the largeness, the emptiness of one's own soul, and come to terms with it, glorying at last in its open freedom." -David Malouf, An Imaginary Life
For me it (turquoise) is simply instinct, and perhaps this is all that a person can try to put into each of her days: attention to the radiance, a rise to the full chase of beauty.
What do the eyes rest upon -- mind disengaged, heart not -- that combines senses and affection into a homeland?
(B)lue, terra-cotta, green. Sky, stone, life.
(T)he river celebrates things we forget how to celebrate: our own spirits, the eternity of all things.
(T)he serenity of being beside a river induces an intensity of awareness that is inflammatory; one moves from languid calm to burning ecstasy in an instant.
It is as if there is no air or stone here, only light.
In solitude you strip yourself bare, you rest your mind on what is essential and true.
The river draws off my madness and calms me.
I am an obligate species, obligated to have this river. I can match this life to its shape. Perhaps then I might learn something.
Slowly, the senses had a way of overtaking the mind so that the perfume of clifforse could push me into a realm of sheer pleasure.
I was seized by something that could never be wrestled down, a feeling not unlike sorrow and ecstasy compounded.
The wind rakes our hair and we see so many stars at night, I fear that merely by watching them we will lose all moorings and float upward into the deep, silent light.
I liked the drums pulsing inside my head until they seemed to drive my own blood through my veins, and the way the dance arenas opened to a sky soon to be strewn with stars like seeds cast from a gourd-- some radiant combination of things so acutely visual and physical that you understand more easily what it is you love.
The desert gives an unsettling sense of the largeness of the universe in relation to the self.
"Here the immensity, the emptiness, feeds the spirit, and leaves it with no hunger for anything but more space, more light-- as if one had suddenly glimpsed the largeness, the emptiness of one's own soul, and come to terms with it, glorying at last in its open freedom." -David Malouf, An Imaginary Life
For me it (turquoise) is simply instinct, and perhaps this is all that a person can try to put into each of her days: attention to the radiance, a rise to the full chase of beauty.