If there is a search for the most used phrase in news reporting in the last five years, I'm sure that "suffering from" tops the list. We are suffering from a lot of things. I know it is true. It must be. They wouldn't make this up.
I have no follow up to that. I do, but it is too long and complex. That is why I make these pictures. The human condition.
Were this a classroom, I'd ask why the little rug in the picture makes a difference. What does it do? What does it represent?
So many things, of course, but today, hoping to fight my own miserable mood, it represents a piece of artifice against the vast nothingness, the tiny bit of decoration that brings us comfort in a ruinous universe. As I write, a group of fellows is working outside, redoing three driveways in gravel and mulch, and bringing in ligustrum trees and re-landscaping much of the yard. They did half of it yesterday, and when I came home from work, I immediately felt better. Somehow, everything changes that way. And when they are done, I will make little flower pot gardens around the verandas and decks, and then I will begin the work inside, too, new shutters to replace some old and broken ones, and maybe a few pieces of furniture as well. How do we let things fall apart? Two ways, as Jake Barnes says about something. . . first slowly, then quickly.
When I go to San Francisco, I plan to slow down. I don't want to rush about trying to do and see everything. I have booked a nice room in a good part of town, and I will not feel forced to leave it if I do not wish. In my youth, of course, there were cheap rooms and a mania to do everything. Days were crammed with places and events. And it was great, great fun. Now, though, I want a Room with a View. I want high thread count sheets and some amenities, too. I will go to the art galleries and museums and walk streets and take my time. I may even leave my camera at home. I've photographed all of this before. Of course I won't, but it won't be a primary concern.
I want someone to make me tea every day. With ritual. I want to sit and watch the water poured and the glasses bathed in hot water and the tea spilled over the pot to season it. I want to sip it and eat sesame balls and other delicacies. Samovar is a good place. Perhaps in San Francisco, there are others, too.
And when I get to Yosemite, I don't want to worry about being macho. I've climbed most of what I will ever climb there. And I've climbed it fast. I will wander up trails without a need to prove myself. Some days I may simply lounge beside the Merced River and think and dream.
And when I'm done, I hope much is clearer to me. I hope the tiny vibrations in my body will cease and my head will clear.
And when I return, I hope that everything is as it should be.
If so, maybe I'll make some different kinds of pictures.
Oh. That sounds just lovely. I pray you do as you say.
ReplyDeleteI have always loved my brother's stories of being in India working and having a man stationed outside his office door and every so often popping in and asking "tea?"
Here's a new poem by a favorite poet (I left you "The Weight of Being Eden" once). I leave it mostly because of Stanza 2
Melusine
The untuned music of a mouth clasped key,
Seals my mountain prison, the last sound
But that of my thoughts, and the rot
Of all these riches coiled and piled
Like snakecharmer smoke.
Keep me company, now, by reading
My palm or telling wild fortunes
From a brightly bannered wagon.
Foretell some curse, some ancient doom
And make me tea in my solitude.
When to draw water from and empty stream?
This night the castle’s turrets tumble,
Ravaged only by awkward silence and flight.
I Imagine the dorymen on the river cry:
“Serpent, flesh tongue and beauty,
No stone could sink so slowly.”
Their voices consumed by moth and moon.
As they ply their course through Éislek
To weave strange songs in Picardy.
Thanks, L. I will feel better, I am sure. I won't get my palm read, but I will have someone make me tea in my solitude. And I will be just as calm and confident as an old pasha.
ReplyDeleteThe package arrived yesterday. Yes, those are the sort of images that inspired my series. Thanks!