I’m talking about creating something big together, working together on something, something good. Something money and cynicism can’t touch, because we have no use for any of that. Something we believe in, even if it seems a little crazy. An unholy ghost building made up of dream-filled rooms and corridors leading to vistas and light. A place where we can sigh out our sentences and sing out our silences.
There is a second sort of bamboo growing here, with beautiful varied dark green stripes on a yellow background. My friend tells me that in Vietnam this is special and a spirit might live in such bamboo. There is a large stand of such striped bamboo nearby. I’ve seen no spirits but there are weaver birds occupying the grove, much activity from the birds building their nests. The ground around the stand is littered with failed nest attempts.
A beautiful collaborative work of two photographers & poets, this haunting combination of film, words, and voice was created on a camera obscura made of recycled parts.
The human condition is ripe for contemplation, but it’s the kind of meditation that only yields results if undertaken honestly. Nature’s book is full of wisdom, but you can only get it if you read to the very end.
DO THEY THINK WE’RE MORONS? Do they think that if they slip the word “technology” into their advertisement we will believe that their product will miraculously turn back time? Yes, yes they do think we’re morons, but the truth is actually more cynical than that.
The idea, a loose brief, of following the Nile to Aswan, close to where the river enters Egypt from Sudan, I would talk to farmers and fishermen and those whose livelihood depends on the seemingly eternal flow of the longest river in Africa. I wanted to learn of the potential risks posed by climate change on rural Egypt. I also wanted a photo or two, and, an anecdote would be good.
We’re given music. (And it does feel like a gift.) We’re given, specifically, a small, moving swell of music, like a warm gentle wave; a few notes from the second movement of Beethoven’s Emperor piano concerto. And then we return to the quiet world of this ridiculously beautiful expressive boy, to the sound of his breath, and of his madly pedaling feet.
“We are privileged to live at a moment when a new story is being written about how we understand ourselves in the world. The old story said we were all separate from one another, from the natural world; even our bodies separate from our minds. The new story is revealing something quite different.”
Some thoughts on solitude, connection, and the Internet’s influence on artists’ communities.
But these people are working on something, they’re building something that defies understanding. In rusts and greys, the vast spaces of dried grass and gloomy sky are weighed down by small clusters of human clutter. And by people operating on a singularly American level of absurdity to respond to the lucid invitation to live and to create, in the very midst of the desert.
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