Seven Month Silence

I have been becoming simple...ironically, it's been too complex of a process to explain here. I was telling someone the other day that I am empty. Empty of everything that has mattered (well almost). Relationships that mattered---several gone. My work---not secured. My family away from home---moving away from here. Some who have led the way---lagging behind. My home---up for sale. The place I want---not mine. Promises made---not fulfilled. My current dreams---not yet real. My most comfortable passions---attacked. My current place among roommates---drawing to a close most likely. My collaboration among familiar sisters---perhaps finalized. My movements of faith toward desires---not joined. My sights set on clarity from the light above---but only I see? Really? Why?
I HAVE TO speak this reality. I find very few people of "faith" who have much tolerance for reality. Personally, I cannot find that uncommon faith I thirst for in this life without tracing the harsh edges of every day. The deeper I name my emptiness, the wider the expanse to be filled up. I watched a documentary yesterday that I'll share with you later. The artist was talking about shadow. In that darkness is the reality of a presence. Shadow only exists in the contrasting reality of light. Certainly, becoming empty has helped me discover clearly what makes me feel full. Can you have HOPE without HOLES?

So the documentary. Above is a photograph of the artwork of ANDY GOLDSWORTHY. His work has made me think and experence something emotional like none before. He works in nature---collaboratively. His art does not often last very long. It returns to nature. His medium is movement. As seen in the above photgraph, he would artfully arrange these beautiful leaves in a shallow pool. Then he watches the tide come in and the art changes, continually becoming. If you would like to view more of his amazing work click HERE. If you want to be inspired by meeting the artist as portrayed in the documentary, I suggest you watch Rivers and Tides. The following sculpture is probably my favorite one highlighted in the documentary.


Here, Andy is connecting these strong, dry grass stalks into a web that is suspended from a beautiful tree. He uses thorns to connect the reeds of grass. I am drawn to this man because he is able to see much farther than the work of his hands. He knows full well that his sculptures will be fleeting. In fact, there is frequent footage of Andy's sculpture disintegrating within his hands as he is crafting it. In this example of the weaved reeds, a gentle wind presented itself in the moment of filming---while he was discussing this work he was in the process of creating. He stopped talking. He immediately took verbal note of the change in the wind that he felt. He noted immediately the potential impact the wind might have on the web. And as he spoke this reality, theweb began breaking. Andy reached up, instictively, and tried to steady the art. He was ever so gentle, too. He held his hand in place for what seemed so long. The art eventually gave way to the gentleness of the wind.

There was something so dynamic in that scene, to me.

I appreciated his balance as an creator of ephemeral art. He delighted in watching his art change. Yet, he completely grieved when his art was interrupted, or he failed to accomplish the piece as planned. When that web began falling apart, you knew he was not finished with it yet. You could feel the loss and disappointment. He didn't hide it. Perhaps he would place a rock in place and the entire stack of rocks would fall apart---hours of work gone---each time I felt like he should get up and kick the ground and cuss! There was that tension though. He ususally responded with a deep sigh, a groan, long silence, a little rocking back and forth, and then he would pick up the pieces and begin again.

I'll leave you with one more picture. Look carefully. This is a rock. Andy located icicles, broke them into pieces, and sculpted them into this form on the rock. Beautifully becoming all day long.