Merry and Bright
December 23, 2014
Most Wonderful Solitudes
October 20, 2013
“Churches in cities are most wonderful solitudes.”
— Thomas Merton
I’ve decided I want to make day trips to some of Seattle’s churches after looking at the amazing photographs in Inspired: Churches of Seattle by Rick Grant and Lara Swimmer. The book included my favorite Seattle church, the Chapel of St. Ignatius on the Seattle U campus, which I have written about before. I realized it is probably premature to name a favorite when I haven’t set foot in most of Seattle’s other churches. I made a short list of some other churches that I hope to see inspired by some of the photographs in this book.
Two of the three churches I’d hoped to explore on a recent trip downtown were closed (I will have to plan more carefully), but the doors to the St. James Cathedral were open. (Why are churches locked mid-day anyway? I think they should be more welcoming.) This was my first time in this cathedral of the Catholic Archdiocese of Seattle, and it is indeed impressive.
I always become aware of light when I am in church, and the altar here in the cathedral is lit by an oculus dei, Eye of God. And I love the soft colored light of stained glass windows and flickering votive candles, too. Here is a sense of this holy space:
My Arrival in France: Digne Les Bains
May 25, 2013
After almost two weeks together, my sister and I parted ways. She returned to the kibbutz in Israel, and I flew to Nice, France for the next leg of my journey, a five-day guided hiking expedition along the trails in the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence that featured several land art installations by the artist Andy Goldsworthy. I had long wanted to see some of Goldsworthy’s work, especially after seeing the movie Rivers and Tides about his unique vision. When I ran across some newspaper articles (here and here) about the Refuges d’Art and Goldsworthy sculptures along a trail in France, I added this experience to my wish list of things to do before I die.
So I was very much looking forward to the France part of my vacation, although I did not have many details about the hike itself. I did not know who else might have signed up and I knew little about the area. My guide, Jean-Pierre Brovelli of etoile-rando.com, was taking care of all meals, lodging, transportation and logistics. All I had to do was to show up in Digne on the morning of our first hike.
I took the little scenic train, the Train des Pignes, from Nice to Digne, enjoying the warmer Mediterranean weather, the blooming lilacs and wisteria, the green grassy pastures, orchards of white blossoms, and villages (Entrevaux and Puget-Theniers looked especially interesting) from the train windows. I arrived in Digne in the late afternoon, and had time for a short walk around the town before turning in early. I wanted to sleep well before the hiking started the next day.
In the morning, I was met at the hotel by Jean-Pierre and then the rest of our group made introductions. There were five other hikers, all French, four women and one man, and I was heartened to see that they were all roughly my age. We would be lead by Jean-Pierre and his fellow guide, Eric. I felt we were in good hands.
Snowbound? Not Quite
January 18, 2012
“Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat . . .”
— John Greenleaf Whittier, “Snowbound”
It must be a slow news day if Seattle’s weather is making the headlines around the country. Yes, we got some snow starting early this morning — about 3 inches at my house. No wind. No blizzard conditions. The snowfall will likely end this afternoon, and by Friday, it will all be washed away in winter rains. Other parts of the state got more snow and high winds, but Seattle got just a nice blanket of white stuff.
I did go out for a walk with my camera before work today. I’ll be posting some more snowy images in the next few days.
Luminous Gate
December 7, 2011
This post shares my favorite artwork from the Seattle Art Museum’s exhibit, Luminous: The Art of Asia. The “Gate” by Do Ho Suh, featured a doorway and a repeated montage of photographic images projected on its silk walls. There is something alluring about doorways and thresholds. I felt like I was participating in the artist’s vision by walking through the door. The projections provided a cyclical change of atmosphere — from a relatively blank start, to a bucolic forest scene, and then the arrival of a flock of birds. As the images proliferated, and the screen became almost black, with sinister overtones, before receding to the calm starting point. It is a spectacular installation!
Be It Ever So Humble, There’s No Place Like Home
October 26, 2011
I have just returned from a trip to my childhood home and farm where I stayed with my 92-year-old Dad who still lives there. I know that I am among the few 57-year-olds who can still make a statement like that. I am very aware that each return is one of a finite number of remaining stays in the house of my childhood memories. Two of my brothers now own the farm land and buildings, and the long-term plan is to eventually tear down the old farmhouse and build a new home on the property.
The old, square, wood-framed farmhouse is nothing special architecturally or design-wise. You could definitely call it humble. On this visit, I made sure to photograph some of its rooms, which have changed little over the decades.
“Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.”
— John Howard Payne
Thoreau Thursdays (27): The View from the Front Door
October 20, 2011
“There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hands. I love a broad margin to my life. Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time. I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance.”
— Henry David Thoreau, Walden
I envy the woodsy view from Thoreau’s front doorway. I am not enamored of the view from my own front door, looking out on our scraggly lawn and garden to a residential urban street of closely standing houses. Even our view of the sky is made imperfect by telephone and cable wires. Our bushes and trees on the borders of our lot are unkempt and wild, but they provide some measure of privacy even in the city. So thankfully our windows, at least, are free of curtains.
When my sister visited recently, she turned a chair around from facing into the dining room to instead face out the window. This was her spot to sit while sipping her morning cup of coffee. This simple action made me realize how easy it would be to be more aware of the outdoors. How many days have I spent inside, going about my life, without noticing the sunrises and sunsets or clouds passing by!
Thoreau’s quote reminds me to invite revery and contemplation into my days. I am ashamed at how rarely I spend time in our yard. I like the idea of using our yard as an outdoor living space, an extension of our house. I will have to spend the winter dreaming up ways to make this a reality by next summer.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
— John Lubbock, The Use of Life
“Living artfully, therefore, might require something as simple as pausing.”
— Thomas Moore, Care of the Soul
“The lure of the distant and the difficult is deceptive. The great opportunity is where you are. Do not despise your own place and hour. Every place is under the stars, every place is the centre of the world. Stand in your dooryard and you have eight thousand miles of solid ground beneath you, and all the sidereal splendors overhead.”
— John Burroughs, Leaf and Tendril: The Complete Writings of John Burroughs