Thursday, June 3, 2010

Fifteen Years


A calm day. A peaceful day. A day of steady rain, and of soft lacy maples closed upon themselves, a day of sheltering birds, wings wet from feeding their young. A day in which this drawing arrived in lieu of words, in memory of my father’s death fifteen years ago:





“Canvas 43”
June 2, 2010

[click to enlarge]




Does it look like him? Yes. No. Exactly. Does it look like me? I believe so — at least it did at the time it was being drawn. Because now I look like someone else, someone more distinctly myself than even I had dared to imagine. Someone familiar, someone warm, someone someone might one day come to know — someone I’ve been all along, only more so.

I made lamb stew. I fiddled a bit with the main page of my website to accommodate links to some of the images and portraits scattered here along the sidebar. I crawled across the floor in a game with my grandson. Time takes its toll. I go willingly.


Update:
The Conversation continues.

12 comments:

Janice said...

This is a wonderful and beautiful tribute in memory to your father. I like the thought that as each day we live we become more of the person we are meant to be. Maybe when we have reached the end and have reached that final developement of who we are our journey is over and it's time to leave...

I like the changes you have done on your website. When I see your photos I see someone who should be surrounded by books and words...a scribe in the truest sense of the word :)

William Michaelian said...

Well, I suppose it is my natural state... and yet I felt every bit as comfortable on the farm, caught up in the annual cycle of the work and changing seasons... which was my father’s natural state. In fact I’ve said before that I’ve learned as much about life and writing from my time alone in the vineyards and orchards as I have from people and books. But of course it’s all bound together and part of the same movement.

Anthony Duce said...

A very good reflection of the world you live in. It seems calming, and at the same time to be like life should be and is for many of us. I liked your words today. Thanks

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Anthony, as I appreciate yours. I hope that when I’m gone someone feels even half as strongly as I do about my father. But that will have to be earned.

Joseph Hutchison said...

Well, not exactly in lieu of words! The words in dialogue with the image it seems—or making a nest for it....

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Joe. The words and the image do seem to know one another. It’s nice being able to eavesdrop on their conversation....

all ways 11 o'clock said...

Oh William, your father and your grandson and the picture, you and your father. The wamrth you have in this day crawling on the floor in play.
Oh William,
thank you for sharing this day with us.

William Michaelian said...

Anthony, I think my meaning was clear, even if my sentence was incomplete. But I meant to say, “I hope that when I’m gone someone feels even half as strongly about me as I do about my father.”

Robert, thank you for being a part of it. Each reading and comment adds something, and in turn becomes part of my memory of it.

rahina q.h. said...

interestingly the closed eyes suggest a total trust... in something beyond this world, whether it is in sleep or death. beautiful words and tribute to your father.

William Michaelian said...

Rahina, thanks. I believe you’re right about those eyes. Thanks for helping me see them through yours.

Woman in a Window said...

"someone I’ve been all along, only more so."

And so it seems to me, every day closer to the truth. And then I wonder on the fluidity of truth. I wonder so deeply and so long that when I look up, I have gone. But where I am now, oh, so much more poignant than a moment ago.

We are of one another, aren't we, these people we are so close to? Beautiful post, William.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Erin. Yes, I believe that is so. More than believe. Have witnessed. Felt.