Still from video by Anna Peach, Newfoundland 2007
Meltdown seems to be the theme of the days here. All things are in motion, even if the motion is the slow disintegration that eventually leads to the destruction of the form. A slow shift that is barely detected as an object drifts in its own melt. Not sure if that is too much description given for a video made of melting ice created when the growlers (broken sections of icebergs) pushed ashore. Beautiful in their simplicity. Elegance found in their isolation from the environment in which they belonged. I often wallow in my own melt, but it just seems better when they do it.
1 comment:
'I often wallow in my own melt' wow, I want to write that on my wall and then hide is behind a thin muslin curtain.
There is such dignity in nature as is falls apart, melts, decays. Things seem to have so much dignity as they break up, as plant grow through them, as they rot into the soil, or the seas.
I wonder if it's our ability to move and express ourselves through gestures, facial expressions and words, that means we don't have that peaceful quality?
But then many people do have it. The ones who are like the old buildings, bergs, trees... the ones who accept that the change is inevitable and they accept it and don't struggle against it.
My Granny was like that, her weatherworn face all leathery from a lifetime of seeing walking dogs on the west and attending the funerals of friends and family sooner and more frequently than anyone could wish for. She looked like an old tree that was shaped by the wind and simply stood through all the other changes that happened around it because it could not change anything.
As a child I would do my wallowing up a tree or in a little cave made from woven sticks and grasses. It always felt better to wallow outside in the wind and rain rather than in the house. Of course, I was being a bit fairytale-ish about it all and hoping someone would happen upon my little nest and whisk me off to the better life I was really destined for. Not prince charming, no, I was always more inclined to be whisked off by the hard working peasant boy, fisherman, or roving gypsy. I'm still hoping.
Godness, I was about to do the washing up and instead I'm thinking all this. You always get my mind ticking over.
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