History, philosophy, photography, art, memories, food, books, movies, technology, cultures, friendships, conversations...
Born in the Philippines, living in the U.S., I straddle East and West in interests and desires. I am fascinated by cultural patterns and seek to understand their source in personal and communal histories and in people's beliefs.
Contact me at creator81@gmail.com.
Four more inches of snow fell this morning between seven and nine. Rush Hour accidents closed two Interstates and several city thoroughfares. Two people were killed when a semi rammed into a dozen cars near Anderson. In my little enclave, after the snow, I shot this snowman near the woods bordering the property. Some kids found the time to take advantage of school closing and enjoy the bounties of the weather.
Cartoons and animation make light the seriousness we often ascribe to "art." I love this effect. Life is more serious than art and needs the levity even more!
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Mornings should be like this, a feeling all's just starting. Sitting was restless initially until I paid attention: there were shapes in front of my closed eyes. I didn't see them until I looked. The larger picture evaporated; only immediacy remained. I saw how dying could be just this, not in the larger picture where mind chatters and experience eludes us. What a coverup!
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The mercury rose to 47° today under clear, sunny skies. Chunks of snow were falling off rooftops all day but on the ground the knee-high snow looks undiminished. Many city streets still have snow-covered lanes and turns. After lunch and a visit to Half Price for my weekly dose of one-dollar brand-new books, I explored the neighborhoods in search of photos and was not disappointed. I captured a dozen or so good-enough images but have not processed them yet. This was taken north of the Little League field on 86th Street around five in the afternoon.
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Sometimes I feel very lucky. After a great but long workout at the gym, I came home and fixed myself dinner. Luxury comes in many forms. For some it might be dinner at André Soltner's old Lutéce or L'Atelier at the Four Seasons; for me, luxury is a freshly cooked dinner, so simple every ingredient is a distinctive taste, relished with half a glass of Chardonnay.
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Over the years I have put together a few necessities for sitting in the morning—to cover my bare knees, warm my shoulders, support my hands, sit on, etc. The fabrics come from Indonesia, Bhutan, Saudi Arabia, India, and, of course, Mount Shasta in California. Without planning, our lives take the colors and faiths in spite of ourselves. Wherefore focus?
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Half an hour cleaning my camera sensor. Maybe I should respect focus a little more.
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Outside, inside, storms come and go. Beauty if we can find it is even more elusive, like storms, impossible to control. I listened to Charlie Rose last night in an "appreciation" of John Updike who recently died at age 76. The writer described himself as a plodder. He simply did what he did. What does it matter to us what those who are left behind think of us? What we think of ourselves day in, day out, only matters to the extent we act or not act. In the long run, the music of our lives has a beauty of its own composing.
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