A Place to Sit

Lent; lenticular - a changing picture depending on which way you view it.

I'd forgotten about lent until a friend asked me last night what I was giving up. I replied with a question: do you give something up, put it down for a while, or rather take something up which naturally displaces the less healthy thing?

Last year I took up quiet space, and was enriched at the end of 40 days because of it. I committed to getting up a little earlier and having a contemplative quiet time at the start of each day, and wrote down my insights from during those times. I learnt things, and discerned the way to navigate problems and dilemmas that were current. I was steadied and stilled, and my breathing regulated again. I was able to identify choices I was making out of fear, and gently gather myself to stop being fearful and make choices from a calmer, more rounded, love-filled perspective. The important things—often the things that don't shout for attention—had my attention again.

I can't figure out what to give up for lent. There is too much else to figure out in life, and too many possible viewpoints to choose. Taking up a place to sit will do for now.


{Today's Soundtrack: Cashier No.9 - Make You Feel Better}

Seasons, Clearly

Just look at it exactly as it is. What might you appreciate about this encounter if you can stop wanting the rain to be over? Shape, colour, form, texture that is quite expressive, life-filled, moving constantly. Suddenly, rain is not so miserable.

*

It's all about seasons. We have Hockney to thank for this reminder at the moment.

Sitting in a room at the RA with his large, tessellated film works of nature metamorphosing through the seasons, I gasped with a couple of hundred others as the same scenes were presented through jaw-dropping, theatrical changes: first, the autumn reds, fade to black; second, minimalist snow blanket, fade to black; third, spring green leaping off the screens, fade to black; and so on.

Moving through the galleries around repeat woodland scenes rendered in conflicting light through the seasons and times of day, I knew what he was saying. This time it leaps off and jumps on you, and that time it is totally flattened out and lifeless. Yes, I can feel both of those things in the same place.

Startling, large-scale canvas work pieced together on the biggest wall available and viewed from a distance moved me to tears - striking encouragement to keep going.

I have come to be enthralled by seasons and what they teach of patience through repeated cycles over years and years, and more years. Seasons take their time, and sometimes slow time. This is about the agony, serenity and exuberance of seasons passing, and how you can be moved and held in place all at once.

See it exactly the way it appears, and be held in place while it does the moving.

Seasons of yours. Ours.

Still moving. Still, but moving.

*
'hard times ain't gonna rule my mind'


{Today's Soundtrack: Gillian Welch - Hard Times}

Gifts : 2012

There will always be a horizon. A day set apart for making extravagant displays of love—St Valentine's—may appear to be a horizon in itself, but it's really only a vantage point from which to view the various glimmers and glistenings happening everywhere and everytime else and other. 

Looking out to horizons in the coming year, my slowly focusing lens keeps on with its fixation on scruffy glinting objects at my toes, distracting from the unwieldy temptation to skip today and grab tomorrow; or the temptation to forget about tomorrow and be restrained by what failed to happen yesterday. 

Forget about the horizon for a minute - what do we have in the frame today?

This year, I'm trying not to make goals so much as be glad of my gifts. If I treasure these little blessings everyday, then perhaps the goals will make—and realise—themselves.

"The heart bears indentations of yesterday's child"

Oh yes, the heart really does. These hearts really do. Hearts bear indentations, and they are all gifts. Dirty, messed up, grubby and flawed gifts, the lot of them.

A post-Valentine's post, because as I suggested this time last year here and there it's not all containable in one day, but rather all the small gestures in every other day of the year where love is really found.


*
I've been singing this song all night long.


{Today's Soundtrack: Lucy Rose - Scar}