Wherever you go, there you are
Seems everything we do, from drinking a glass of water, to making a photograph, to contemplating a reflection, is about our unknown future. The water travels through my digestive system, a photographs waits in an album, the reflection a fading memory. In a strange way the future pours out of things.

Amorphous knowing, clouds, forming, shaping, raining, settling, dissolving, soaking, sinking, darkness, absorbing, spreading, rising, lightness, melding, misty.

In the Alps, with Roger, a Lambretta and a snowball. 1966
I think you may have placed the snowball on the barrier, which made it less of an obstacle to our journey through the mountains and more of a destination within the mountains, a place to turn, (turn, turn). Turn around, go back the way we came, try again, in another way. Each day (now and then) seen as a journey, not just within a stretch of time but also a space somewhere in our minds, space travel. Then and now become space-time in (some) of our photographs. Photography is strange. We make photographs, not knowing how they will be seen or felt in the future. Often we make a photograph and don't know why, or for whom, or anything like that, but we hold on to some of these little things we've made, just a few, for our future.

Reality was a friend of mine, words with a song, the tune in my head, words on this page. Just words. If you know the song a feeling for the words may change this feeling. Realities are like illusions.

as you are
Shopping list, fruit, cooking apples, frozen raspberries, yogurt, milk, Benecol, eggs, apricots, prunes, toothpaste
Swirling, a speck of soot settles on the white space, before ink has touched the page. I breath out, air swirls into currents that ebb and flow. A moment held, manifest, not unlike a speck of soot settling.

River Crossing, Richmond Lock & Weir
Space. Time. A difference between these two words is obvious, the letters are different, only the 'e' is the same. If I put a dash '-' between the words Space and Time something else happens. Space-Time. Instead of being different, Space and Time coalesce.

This thought about 'difference', touches on feelings about being, being the same, being different. Two entities seemingly existing in different realms, these are realms of thought and feelings that swirl around some things that seem to be thoughts.

Space, as nothing in mind. Then I move. My movement defines a space. And within my skin, an awareness of so much movement, beings hurtling and wandering around within my skin, this body, this space, all these beings in their own spaces, in their own worlds, doing what they do, mingling. This body of mine. Nothing in mind.
Time came to mind this morning. An unmeasured walk, what happened, was time lost? Some music playing, 'in the pouring rain, very strange'. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going or how I was getting there. I dwell upon the words 'paying' and 'attention', I notice my thoughts drifting, my body moving in a multitude of ways to allow me to walk. Walking as a rhythm, a cadence, a duration, in its own time. Time becomes amorphous, my body time, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and this other time, moving along, through air, past many things, flowing, a step, stepping, through time. I come back to this body of time, embodied time, these circadian rhythms, keeping my time, a pulse, energies. I notice the air as I breath it in and out, a feeling of being in a bubble of time, dissolving, reforming. The music has moved on, 'and kept my mind from wandering'. Some minutes have passed by.

Is 'political' an act, an action, a response, a kindness, a word. Words spill onto my morning notebook from swirling thoughts. I ask myself, is thinking political? And, what does it feel like to think in a political way? How do I define political for myself? Is asking this question a political act? That depends on how you define political. I'm not sure what it is to think or be political, so I'll say to myself that asking that question is political. I have all these questions I've asked of myself, they're stacked in a box. But I'm not sure where the answers have gone. And I still haven't defined what political is. Maybe it's about asking and answering questions. Maybe it's a little more than that, possible being aware of the ways you articulate the answers to questions you ask of yourself. Articulating your thoughts and finding ways to respond to your thoughts in some way, and being aware you've done this, done something with the thoughts that swirl in from the darkness. Maybe this has something to do with being political?

Green Park
Politics. This word began to arise from my early morning feelings and thoughts. I try to hold the word in a way that it relates to my everyday life. Politics is all over the place. It's a hard word and can be a soft word. I orient towards a soft understanding of the word politics for my self this morning, a politics of everyday life, a here and now, this moment. How can I begin to understand the word politics? Through writing these words on my iPhone? Through a politics of writing? A politics of words? A politics of the iPhone? Maybe a politics of this iPhone? I can quickly take my self away from a politics of this moment. Some music plays, a background, another background is the occasional whirring of the 'Food To Go' refrigerator, behind me, the muffled hissing of the air conditioning, indiscernible words of people passing by. I write a couple of pages of notes in my notebook with my pen. Which I'll come back to; this politics of blogging, and my politics of the moment, this everyday practice.
"The idea of people coming together to express a shared identity is embodied in the word hall. It suggests a framed and roofed space close to the centre of a community. It is free and open to all those who share it. Often, halls are located in raised or bounded landform, creating irreducible mark of architecture: the separation of an inner world from an outer world. The ideal hall is built by people from their own resources. The act of construction is a ritual that binds a community to itself, the land and the cosmos. It becomes a receptacle of ancestral continuity and, therefore, of collective meaning. In our modern deracinated societies, this ideal form of the hall is distorted and changed, but it holds onto its fundamental attributes."

Presences, NĂ­all McLaughlin Architects, a talk on 15 January 2019 at RIBA 

Rippling, puddle, rain, droplets, cloud, figments, moving. These words loop. The ripples quieten, I look into the stillness, see darkness in the puddle, a cloud moves, a touch of lightness reflects.
Waterloo #4
Waterloo #3
Waterloo #2
Waterloo #1
Hollyhock Cafe, Terrace Gardens, Richmond

Search This Blog