Round, rounded, roundabout

Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.                        J. R. R. Tolkien

No sharp edges, no straight lines. The challenge was to be more rounded.

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Shackled

Shackled.
Distracted by craving,
Greedy with hunger,
An appetite to create.

Eluded.
The subject remains hidden,
Blank pages unscathed by ink
Canvases bald.
Languishing.

Barren are the recesses of innovation.
Desolate—the wastelands of creativity.
No spark.
No glint or glimmer.
No muse.

An impoverished artist—
Defeated
Beaten
Cast away
Aching.

Accepting life’s plot twists

“Life is a story, if you wouldn’t read the one you’re telling, write a different ending.” Good Life Project

 “Would you want to read the story of your life?” Jonathan Fields asks in the Good Life Project podcast.  You know what, I actually wouldn’t and I realised in that moment that having taken a different path the plot of my story diverged and was reshaped.

I had a plan mapped out and before the plan could be realised, circumstances dictated I go another way. For several years I have craved to go where my heart had planned and now I realise a strong physical yearning has taken up residence in my core.

As the author of my life I know I can edit and rewrite my narrative at any stage. I am reassured that the strong pull I feel is confirmation that I haven’t missed the opportunity. That it isn’t too late to go where I had intended. That I may still develop that arc more fully and weave new adventures into the fabric of the tale.

Fields’ question helped me realise that even though the current plot line I’m living isn’t the most absorbing, it is purposeful and so one not to regret or lament. I realised too that there is still colour and texture and taste and smell. It it might not be the stuff of legend but it’s real and it’s honest and it’s part of the short time I have on this magnificent planet and therefore not to be erased or footnoted.

Armed with this reframing I understood I was still the main writer, that I could confidently tell my story identifying its richness and look forward to the time I can take that other path and explore it more fully.

Are you shining the best light on your story to make it worth reading?

 

 

Framed

 

If the eyes are windows to the soul, what are windows?

Arches, doorways and windows offer perfect frames through which to present the world.  These photos are a handful of the many, from my travels, that offered me a chance to observe and absorb the world in digestible portions. (Above: Duomo in Florence)

The Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi—can’t believe my luck to have this view from both the restaurant table and my convent room window.

Ruins in Rome

A glimpse of the sea from my room in Riomaggiore

Within Rembrandt’s house museum, Amsterdam.

 

The curious act of collecting

“When we are collecting books, we are collecting happiness.”― Vincent Starrett

Losing interest in proceedings my mind wandered and was ignited by the idea of collecting. Curiously, this had no remote link to the lecture I was in.

Intrigued, I began following thought webs as they spun in seemingly random patterns. My mind’s eye posed snapshots; images of rooms full of collectables,  articles I’d read and interviews I’d seen with crafty and committed collectors.

I wondered, with the astounding diversity of collections, what compels us to collect things― stamps, coins, teapots, snow globes, dolls, Elvis memorabilia, matchboxes?  Is curiosity, interest or habit the driver? When did it all begin?

For a short time as a child I collected stamps. I was introduced to it by my father. While it wasn’t something I chose on my own my interest was definitely piqued by his old album of small pieces of paper from all over the world. I remember receiving bags of mixed, used stamps every few months, some still attached to envelopes, from a club I joined. I would spend hours gently  removing the torn envelopes, arrange the stamps by country, date, cost. In retrospect, it was a relaxing pursuit. I could do with some of the calm it bought me, now.

Some stamps were beautifully decorative, others simple and plain. The shapes too were a source of interest, for among the small and large squares and rectangles of all sizes were triangular stamps. There was a fascination too in wondering who had purchased that stamp, who had received a missive with the stamp glued to the  envelope. Of particular interest too was looking for the first edition stamps and envelopes printed in Australia. My father would take me to the post office to purchase these beautiful mint condition treasures. It was nice to share an interest together. Why it lapsed I don’t know. Age, school, lack of real drive and passion. Perhaps a combination.

I haven’t collected anything since, though I do love teapots and sweet antique tea cups and I have several of each but I wouldn’t class it as a collection, merely an interesting display in a cabinet. I do have a habit of picking up shells on the beach and random seed pods and dead leaves that interest me. I have a few glass vases and pottery bowls filled with these treasures.  Maybe they are collections after all? I wonder?

I have seen incredible collections compiled by people who have dedicated their lives to sourcing different versions of a single item. I love the look of a collection. I admire the dedication and the single-minded focus. I’m lazy. I don’t have the dedication to follow through as some do.

Collecting has a history. The Egyptians collected books at the Library of Alexandria. The Medici family, had the first private art collection. Of course our museums and art galleries are collection houses.

A Preston and Child crime novel introduced me to the idea of a “cabinet of curiosities” which was common among scholars, with the means and opportunity to acquire unusual items, from the 16th century onwards. Some of these collections were quite hideous indeed.

In time, with advances and improvements in the general standard of living and the emergence of leisure, more and more people had the means and opportunity to begin collections. But the question remains — why do we collect?

It’s at the core of the human psyche and there are several reasons collecting is a hobby pursued by many. As you might suspect, collecting often goes hand-in-hand with an interest in the objects collected and what they represent. For my friend, blue and white porcelain antiques reflect an interest in an age where delicate, beautiful objects of quality were produced.  There is an enchantment that emanates from a room of blue and white antiques.

Collecting is relaxing.  Tending to a collection is meditative. It can take the collector away from the stresses of life and provide a meaningful and satisfying pastime. I’ve visited a few model train expos and it is evident too that the social connections forged through a shared interest can be strong.

Then we go to the other end of the spectrum where compulsion is the motivator.  I’ve often thought of myself as obsessive and so have tried mightily to avoid or give up habits that see my compulsions escalate. I know for sure if I’d not found Pinterest my love of  tea cups and teapots would drive me, and my husband, to distraction and financial ruin. Pinterest allows me to collect without financial outlay, without having to worry about space, or breakages or dust.

A little tidbit that captured my attention is the link to our past. As hunters and gatherers we were primed to collect food and supplies for survival. Interestingly too, collecting is linked to memory and the making of meaning. The human brain, adept at cataloging and organising information,  associates meaning with objects.

My reverie into collecting was refreshed when, delighted, I came across the tribute (below) to collectors everywhere at the Swell Sculpture Festival. Do you have a collection? I would be interested to know what drives your passion.

The dizzying weight of art

“Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.” ― Twyla Tharp

It was a cool, slightly greying afternoon. Yellowing leaves from the ageing Jacarandas dropped in our hair as bird song and wind filled our ears.  High on the hill, overlooking the city, my friend and I, the only visitors, descended the scaffold stairs into the brick architectural space of a former water storage unit and the weight of the day vanished.

The historic Spring Hill reservoir has been transformed again.  I wrote previously about this public space hosting the Underground Opera and the transcendent experience sound, in the gothic space, has on a listener.  I returned this week to be mesmerised by light.

Open mouthed we stared from on high at the magic woven beneath us. Arriving on solid ground we felt like kids in a mirror maze, removed from the world above.  Daylight from the door overhead  and a small table lamp provided enough light by which to tentatively navigate our way.  At first, without the path lit to discern our course, we gingerly inched along feeling as though we might come to a mirrored dead-end.  Becoming marginally more emboldened we picked our way through the suspended electroluminescent wire framing, that mimicked the shapes of the architecture, and felt a renewed sense of arrival in each segment of the space.

I could not explain how I felt at the time.  Several days hence the best way to describe it is —dislocated.  I felt dislocated and disoriented.  I felt not quite myself.  There was a sense of it at the edges of my consciousness that only now I can liken to  Alice swirling down the rabbit hole.

This free installation continues until the September 23rd and is well worth the visit. I have since discovered the Brisbane City Council has commissioned three artists to present another installation in the Reservoirs that will use sound, film and kinetic sculpture. No doubt, they too will cause visitors to reposition themselves in a familiar historical space.

Brisbane artist, Meagan Streader’s work is exhibited nationally and internationally. It  reflects the minimalist art of the Light and Space movement and reveals the pervasive role of light in governing physical and social navigations of fabricated spaces. Pushing the limits of light within sculpture and installation, she manipulates, reinterprets and extends upon the boundaries of constructed spaces. Through site-specific interventions, her multidimensional use of light re-orientates the viewer’s relationship to the existing architecture and scale of space.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Waiting


In life we wait.
There is a distinction between the kinds of waiting one is required to abide.

There is waiting that must be endured such as waiting for—a bus, an appointment, test results, news from a lost loved one …

There is waiting that is observed with tolerance. We wait for the traffic lights to turn green, the kettle to boil, the pizza to arrive …

Outside these watch checking, magazine flicking, foot tapping, finger drumming, carpet pacing moments of waiting there is anticipation—a different kind of waiting.  Anticipation flutters, it tingles.  Anticipation contains expectation—like the countdown to a holiday or a long-awaited reunion with a dear friend.

Today’s prompt took me back to the top of Brinkley Bluff on the Larapinta Trail, in Australia’s Northern Territory, where we waited in anticipation for the sun to set.

The juxtaposition of elevation

Elevate

Two Images juxtaposed —

ethereal, cheesecloth clad, crystal waving souls
floating
to unexplored realms
faces raised to the light,
smiling in joyful anticipation

 —

black suited, anxious bodies
riding steel contraptions
to the next meeting,
heads down,
foreheads creased,
thumbing messages into small devices.

—Merge!—

Elevate
Rise
Ascend

 

The wonderful art of learning

Never stop learning because life never stops teaching.   Anon

As an educator I love learning. Not all lessons are learnt in a classroom nor taught by teachers. Life has a wonderful way of teaching us new things. Today I was pleasantly surprised, through a small detour in my routine, to learn about a type of printmaking called collagraphy.

Collagraphy is a form of printmaking where the artist creates prints from ‘plates’ upon which they have adhered textured materials in the form of an image. Lithography, in contrast, begins with the artist chiseling the image out of the plate from which they wish to create prints.

Ink or paint is added to the plates. Once printed colour can be added to emphasise details at the artist’s discretion.

Artist Jacky Lowry is currently showing an exhibition, Western Wonders, of her collagraph prints at the Caboolture Regional Art Gallery.

I am soaring after this quick lesson and immersion in her work.
Who will educate me next?