The words that we wield,
Designed to affect power,
For beauty or death.
We all pray. Be it to gods and idols or to the bottom of a bottle. We revere the unknown, pleading to the unconscious deity for solace; for answers. Despite the echoing silence, there are times, in the slowing of the mind, that we hear the still, soft whisper. We animate the darkness into maps of meaning. And in the act of listening we begin to understand. Some call this God. Some call this psyche. To me, it's all the same. Our mind is our church, our synagogue, our temple. Whatever the source, we must listen. We must pray. It is your only hope for peace in a world that commands your attention.
There, above an ocean of clouds, the Earth exhales her crimson breath, lifting mountains to the sky. This heaving planet bulks her mighty shoulders, shoving us aside. And yet we dare to call her ours? We audacious beasts who devour without need, building kingdoms on top of fallen kingdoms, learning nothing of their mistakes. The Earth is alive. The great leveler wakes.
Sparks rise in their primordial dance between fire and sky. Red hot bronze pounded into ethereal shapes by sinew and bone. The deep resonance of metal upon metal sang a savage tune, echoing within ancient hallways of the mind. There was something profound in these moments, when flame begot music.
There is a sound that only silence makes
Art, in a way, reflects the artist's state of mind. This photograph, for instance, was taken when I desired solitude after a weekend surrounded by people. So I was drawn to this space, a barren fairground. I saw beauty in its loneliness because I too desired it. Most of my photographs depict this sentiment. Most of them are devoid of life other than my own. I am trying to change that. Recently and in the coming months I hope to challenge myself to be more present with my art. To capture life instead of loneliness. Or rather life and loneliness, because I do believe they are symbiotic.
Most conflicts arise when we cease to listen. Why should it be any different with ourselves. Do not assume you are your friend.
- Neglect
Stop chasing sunsets,
dawn holds infinite promise,
you need only wait.
She was a soul stuck out of time. As if cut from the light that gleaned from her eyes. She turned heads with her presence which preceded her smile. She was raucous yet demure, a kind of shape shifting guile. Her style her own until she desired another. With her chameleon whim; she was a dreamer, a lover. Willfully naive and recklessly brave. She sought castles in clouds and Kings for her claim. Face to the sky, she challenged the sun. 'Burn brighter than I or to the night succumb'.
There are times that I brood. I turn off all the lights. I silence every sound. And I confront the darkness. It's never about self-pity or lamenting the suffering that is life. I think through my feelings. Slowly. Methodically. Tracing pathways through my mind. Allowing myself to feel what I wasn't ready to feel before. I talk to myself. I write to myself. I do whatever it takes to turn scabs into scars and scars into beauty marks. And when I am done, and the lights come on, I am no longer afraid of the seething shadows within me.