And so the morning began with sounds. Laying in bed listening to snow slide from the roof. Over breakfast listening to Steve tell stories of his night. My brothers’ voices, one via voice mail, him singing a made up song about getting up and getting started with a cup of coffee. His words inspired me to pour some beans into a white cup and photograph a single image and hope it came out well.
I continued to take random shots about the kitchen, of lemons in bowls and of rosemary. I don’t think I’m supposed to let indoor herbs bloom but I couldn’t help myself. No sounds there, just lovely periwinkle silence.
During the midst of all this, something happened. Nothing serious but one of those incidents that can color a day, darken it … if you allow. I told myself to let the incident go. To help me do so, I pulled from my bag a list of desired tasks. One of them was to look up composer Peteris Vasks. I’d only learned of him yesterday at an organ recital. The organist had played one of his pieces, Te Deum. During my research I came across this piece, Dona Nobis Pacem.
A beautiful, calming piece.
As it played on repeat in the background, I wandered around taking other photos, indoors of items on tables
and through windows of ice melting beautifully.
What that music inspired exactly I can’t say. It did encourage me, remind me even, to be present, to appreciate the beauty before me that I could see, that I could hear, and that I could imagine. We all need reminders on occasion. 😉
Today I made my annual donation to one of the nonprofits I support, WalkBoston. As a card carrying pedestrian (and dreamer), believe me, I need help crossing the road. I made the donation in memory of my Aunt Thelma who used to describe her walks to me. Following is a blog post I wrote about her two years ago, about how she influenced who I am today, including how I can choose to give myself to others. This bright, beautiful day is her birthday so it seems like a good time to give back, and give thanks for her having been in the world. At the end of the post is a youtube video of Dives and Lazarus by composer Ralph Vaughn Williams. It was music Steve had shared with me, and music I remember replaying until I could collect the words to write about a lovely woman who in her own unique way helped me learn to walk in this world. Please enjoy the words and the music, and have a good day.
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Memories
My mother taught me to cook, to plant flowers, and to tell stories. From her I learned to love books and to love writing. She passed away before I ever wrote and had published my first story. During her life, I never traveled abroad. She never knew me with a camera in my hand. She never met Steve or any other fellow in my life. But her sister, my Aunt Thelma did.
In Aunt Thelma’s bedroom dresser are the postcards I sent to her from my travels all over the world. On her bookshelves are the magazines and other clippings of my work. And, last year, after I returned from my travels with Steve in Japan, she made me create a photo book for her. “I need tangibles I can hold in my hand,” she said when I pointed out the pictures were viewable online. “And include a picture of that fellow you’re seeing. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him any other way.” They never did meet, but she read about him, and they spoke on the phone once. I sat next to her on her couch as she laughed with him on my cell phone. I remember him asking her what he should call her. She laughed and said, “Well, why you don’t call me what everyone calls me. Aunt Thelma.” After she hung up, she asked me if he was a good man. I said yes. And then we went on to talk about my brothers and their families.
Growing up in Virginia, my mother made it clear early in my life if I was ever in trouble I could call my Aunt Thelma who was living in New York. When my mother died, Aunt Thelma traveled to Virginia and was there with me and my brothers, along with the rest of the family. When my father died unexpectedly a year and half later, she couldn’t make it, but I will always remember standing in a hospital waiting room on the phone with her crying and her saying over and over, “You go ahead and cry. It’s alright to cry.”
In bad times but mostly good, I called her, especially after I got a cell phone. I could call her randomly as I returned home from work. She’d laugh at my stories and in the end, wind up telling me to be careful as I crossed the street. She always ended her calls with, “I love you, Cynthia.”
My Aunt Thelma passed away this weekend. I will miss her. I am thankful that she was in my life. I learned a lot. In NY this weekend, as the family gathered, I held one of my young cousins in my arms. She was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said as she tried to wipe her face. I said, “Why are you apologizing? For crying? Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s alright to cry. Do you know who taught me that?” When she shook her head, I said, “Aunt Thelma.”
will hopefully brighten your day for quite a while.
*The title refers to a guest post I have asked my younger brother, who does have an ear for music, to write about music and nature based on his life experiences down in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is a treat I hope to share before the end of the year. Stay tuned. Get it? Tuned … Have a good day, folks. 😉
I was walking along the Charles River, years ago, when I saw this hawk taking flight. I just happened to bring my camera up in time. I don’t know what I expected to capture but memory is fickle and so I must have wanted something to help me remember the beauty of that moment, of the hawk’s motion.
There was no music by the river that day as there is in this short video of ballet dancer David Hallberg. And it is the combination of his motion with the music of Olafur Arnald that made me pause, mesmerized … and inspired to move. I will never move like Mr. Hallberg but it was interesting to be reminded of the physical self when it is too easy to get stuck to a chair behind a keyboard.
Director Eric K. Yue states that the video is “… less about the dance or context of a story, but rather a state of mind …” into a dancer’s preparations. I don’t see much ballet on stage but after watching this video I am tempted to seek some out. Enjoy the video when you can. 😉
Why “ethereal” as a title? Well, I recently chanced upon a very short video of ballerina Janie Taylor dancing in designer Chloé’s “dance-inspired spring/summer 2011 collection.” The dance was set to Philip Glass’s “String Quartet No. 3, ‘Mishima’: IV. 1962: Body Building.” I enjoy much of what Philip Glass composes. I have not been able to get the dance or the music out of my head. On this windy day, I went for a walk in hopes that the movement and music would inspire me to photograph something sweeping, cascading, flowing, etc. In the end …
… nothing. Not a single “sweeping” thing caught my attention. I put away the camera and headed home, pausing just long enough at a market to purchase a few pieces of fruit. At home, I placed the items on a side table figuring I’d put them away later. Back at the computer, I hit play and repeat on that darn video, and began to outline a writing project. But the wind kept rustling the plastic bag the fruit sat upon. Frustrated, I got up and went to the table. With Philip Glass blaring in the background, I looked down and thought, “That’s it! That’s the shot.” Anyway, that’s my story of this image and I’m sticking to it. If you’re curious, click here for link to the video.
This past spring I met a man in Boston Common. He sings.
I don’t remember if he had an instrument in-hand that first meeting. Most striking were his looks and that voice. Skin as dark as night. A scraggly beard and bushy eyebrows, all white as snow. His voice carried across the park. A gentle rumble. Bass, perhaps. Imagine Paul Robeson in sound.
“Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some chaaaaaange?”
At first I ignored him. I generally have no spare change. And I have mixed feelings about giving money to panhandlers.
“Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some change? Can anyone spare some chaaaaaange?”
But then one day we made eye contact. It has been ingrained that if eye contact is made with a stranger no words need be exchanged but at a minimum try to nod in greeting. And so I did.
“Can anyone spare some … ooooh … Does anyone have a pretty smile? Does anyone have a pretty smile?”
Ever since that moment, when our paths cross in the Common, which is not very often, he will change his song for me.
“Oh there’s that pretty smile. There’s that pretty smile.”
I know I can’t be the only one he does this for. I have yet to place coins in his cup, but he sure does make me feel like I brighten his day. At some point, I shall have to tell him that the sound of his voice brightens mine.
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Footnote 1: Checkout the blog Lust & Rum by photographer Anton Brookes. There, he shares pictures that are heartbreaking and deeply moving of the homeless on the streets of NYC. Following his photographic journey helps remind me to keep my eyes open to those sights I might like to ignore.
Footnote 2: If you’ve not heard the voice of Paul Robeson, you can hear a sample via the following 1 minute and 22 second clip. Enjoy.
Years ago, I walked out of a used book store with the book Point Engraving on Glass. Most likely it was the nature-themed cover that drew me to the book. The author, unknown to me, had an engaging writing style as he described the evolution of glass engraving and highlighted various masters of the craft. I read it, enjoyed it, and put it away to gather dust. But it was not until this week, in a roundabout way, that I realized the author, Laurence Whistler, was a master craftsman himself. Following is a youtube video of the glass prism memorial he created for his brother, the artist Rex Whistler. I hope you have a chance to view — with sound — from beginning to end. And here’s a link to my continuing experiments photographing a shard of glass. Enjoy.
Jen Parrish gave me permission to visit her online sites to select images to use as illustration for her interview responses. As I did with other interviewees in 2012, I asked Jen to share how music inspires her artwork. Viewing her artwork inspired me. I had only to see an item described as “Gothic architecture meets nature” to know how appropos it was that she and I met through an art and architecture department in a Romanesque church.
She is an elegant, soft-spoken woman with a piercing gaze and gentle words. It took me a while to learn that she is also a renowned jewelry designer whose handcrafted pieces are worn by celebrities and other people around the world. Without ever having seen Jen work firsthand, I have only to listen as she speaks about her work to feel her dedication to beauty. I expect everyone who purchases one of her unique pieces must know they carry part of Jen, and more than a bit of world history, with them. I am very grateful she responded to my questions. Please read her interview here. I think you’ll find both the words and images quite interesting.
Well, I live in an area that is currently on “lock down” until the final suspect involved with the Boston Marathon bombings is caught. That tragedy, in combination with a bad back, gives me lots of time to sit and muse. So when I finished playing with the following picture (of water beaded on a petal) all I could think of was “planets.” And what better piece of music to pair with my blue tinted orbs than Holst’s The Planets.
Words + Images 