Life goes, and there are blissful times when you can feel it going, as it escapes with your thoughts through the ends of your fingers. And some things you leave behind have thoughts of their own, thoughts that go on thinking, thinking you are here.
“Canvas #13”
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“Canvas #14”
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“Canvas #15”
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“Canvas #16”
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“Canvas #17”
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17 comments:
Here's to those blissful times! :)
You're not fading away yet, William. Are you?
if I could to stop time.. Maybe I will do it even with the bad time... I think maybe i would do it because every moment in a life is precious and priceless.. I think...
Being or becoming? A paradox: they are you and they become you.
Oh William, you got 'me' again with #13-Hakuin or Hotei...
The sweet bliss of letting go: like a fever breaking in the night.
Thoughts that go on thinking. They do seem to have their own life, breath beyond our exhale. Rattle around like ghosts in the attic. Wish I had an exorcist for some, resin to preserve others.
William this post leaves me sad. Life does go on for those who are left. But the one who has left has taken his thoughts with him. Each one of these are with closed eyes. Eyes to me, are the window to our souls and thoughts...closed eyes, closed thoughts.
My life has finally slowed enough for me to grasp those moments, to enjoy them as I watch them fade away, never to be recaptured but firmly planted in my memory to take out and play with from time to time.
I love this mix of reactions, philosophies, and moods.
The Scrybe: They are blissful, aren’t they?
Elisabeth, I’m fading away only to the extent that I am here, if that makes any sense.
Laura, if I could stop time, I wouldn’t, because then I’d miss the next priceless moment. That is, if time really exists. I’m not scientific enough or smart enough to understand it. But I’m inclined to think there is only one moment, and that we divide it into minutes and hours and years because we know we won’t always be here to enjoy it.
Gerry, I can always count on you to tie my brain in knots. To be is to become; we can’t become unless we are; and yet even when we were, we become more, or less, in other people’s thoughts. Which is to say, I’m happily confused.
Conrad, it’s like that, simultaneously physical and untethered.
Wine — oh, what the heck — Champagne and Words: I think that’s part of the bliss. Still, I feel glad, sometimes, that there are so many holes in my roof.
Janice, I understand what you’re saying, or at least I feel I do. And yet so many wonderful things in this world are savored best when our eyes are closed. Music, scent, and memory are three. And so much can be understood about people by observing them when their eyes are closed. Also, it seems to me that the things we shape during our lifetime, and which were fashioned by our thoughts, are our thoughts made visible both before and after we are gone. And so I would probably say that eyes are a window, rather than the window....
Shelli, you’ve described it beautifully. Memory is fickle, of course. Sometimes it doesn’t want to play, and sometimes it does.
glad to find you--a poet, philosopher and artist with so many meaningful things to say! i am a new follower...
Thank you, Angel-Star. What a pleasant surprise. Welcome!
Rudhi! I missed you! Would you believe me if I said I was thinking about you when I drew #13? It’s true.
When something you produced lives outside of you it affects others, it continues to create thoughts in others. Interesting take. The last canvas has me thinking that the face has now become a torso.
Interesting. Now that you mention it, Lakeviewer, it occurs to me that a savvy fortuneteller might have much to say on reading these drawings. And my use of the word “reading” also makes me wonder if they’re not a kind of text.... but I don’t think I’ll try to pursue that just now....
I do puzzle over so-called common objects — to me, many things that have been handled countless times seem imbued with thought. My mother’s old dented measuring cups are one example. Money is another. Old bills and coins, by virtue of their long use, seem both holy and profane.
Lovely wait to depict and give a portrait to the time flowing like a furious stream down to the ocean of eternity. And as i see the time passing by, i think of a wounded animal bleeding, bleeding a neverending hemorraghe of days and deaths, like life is. Thanks for all reflexions you prompt on me.
Alberto, your kind words reveal the thought and instinct that goes into your beautiful photographs. Thank you.
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