We can find the exquisite in the unexpected, even in how we happen to have placed a book. On Tuesday night these words on the back cover caught my eye.
We find beauty not in the thing itself but in the patterns of shadows, the light and the darkness, that one thing against another creates… Were it not for shadows there would be no beauty.
Junichiro Tanizaki*
I don’t doubt the truth of it and the image above is a good illustration, but sometimes we can lose ourselves in shadow. The mind has a way of wiring in to it and can be reluctant to let go. Going out for a walk, spending time in nature, losing yourself down the lens of the camera or any creative endeavour however simple all help. This week I’ve been grateful for the light, the warmth, the song; it has for a few days felt a little like Spring.
I didn’t expect when I moved here that my macro lens, my previous ‘go to’ for water, would spend so much time languishing in the cupboard but I’ve come to value portability, flip up LCD screens and the flexibility of a longer focal length. It’s taken a trip via water and through vegetation to bring my vision round to using it again. My back, knees and muscles aren’t so happy but I can now see it having a role again as I look more carefully at the moss and up into the trees, and this is the source of this week’s images.
I also have news of a printed collection of writing and images.
Indoors I’ve been catching up with interviews and developing a small book that came out of The Word, making the changes needed to transition from digital to print. It feels like a good conclusion to the workshop, something tangible to hold in the hand. Here is what I have in mind.
Book perhaps sounds a little grand; booklet better. Something small, hopefully beautiful, affordable and that I hope will be the first in a series pairing immersive writing with images. Alluding to atmosphere, evocative, eyes half-closed. An invitation to slow down and reset. The theme for this collection of new writing is accumulation; not only are landscapes layered, but the language that we use as we come to know a place.
The making of this, words laid on words. Picked up, examined, turned over; some discarded, others realigned and polished. An act of deposition.
Have I become as river: restless, always exploring and moving on? Each accumulation of words picks up mental silt, washes it, and releases new precipitate. Laid down, to rest. Over time thoughts accumulate; memories are layered with and become new land, a place for the imagination to walk quietly.
If you’d like to pre-order a copy, get in touch and I’ll reserve one for you ahead of setting up to take orders on my website next week. First shout, naturally, will go to those who subscribe to FLOW.
Not yet free of winter, the afternoon sun sets small fires, orange amid green. This burning flame yet comes from the wet; it will not be extinguished. Amid the grass and lichen and moss are colours to delight gardener or painter alike.
In death and decay, fluidity is restored. Pale and soft leaves map the flow of this place. After rain, frost and snow there are still stories here, marks made, matter accumulating, layer upon layer.
Each season adds to the accretion; each living thing eventually becomes a part, held somewhere between life and death, solid and liquid, substance and solution; suspended in a soup that precludes full dissolution.
Thank you once again joining me and for reading this. If you’ve enjoyed it, please let me know. There is an option to become a paid subscriber if you would care to support my writing here.
You’ll find more image rich writing in previous posts on FLOW’s home page.
My photography and mixed media art live here on my website.
*The book I refer to is ‘In Praise of Shadows’ by Junichiro Tanizaki. I stumbled upon it looking up a reference in another piece of writing - I forget where but it does show that you should read these… and probably make a note of the trail!
Beauty in everything. Amen to that!
That oakmoss lichen is electrifying. ⚡
Hi Michela. Would love a copy