A WHIFF OF PERMANENCE
A stone wall, separating the sky from the earth, both obliterates and becomes the horizon line. As soon as I see it, it vibrates in me and I know I will draw or paint my memory of it.
The horizontal bands of colour that nature provides, e.g., sky/sea/sand; sky/forest/field; sky/mountain/meadow, always resonate in me, stirring something inexplicably familiar, as though in these bands of colour and elements a combination of mathematics, matter and myth come together and create a visual, spiritual poetry.
These images also resonate with my understanding of the nature of time in that I don’t feel time to be only linear but also stacked; strands of experience and history and memory continually accumulating on top of one another before disappearing into the ether. This ephemeral accumulation of time feels innately manifest in horizontally layered bands of nature’s elements and, in the moment in which they are observed, contain the illusion of stability, of permanence, even though we know that the elements, like civilisation, are constantly moving and morphing.
I have recently come to understand that our relocation to London, after 10 years living in Tuscany, has been somewhat disturbing. It’s not that I miss Tuscany, it’s more that the end came so suddenly and dramatically that as much as I feel that I’ve come home to England, my Tuscan roots are still trailing beneath me. These simultaneous feelings of being both uprooted and grounded are somewhat distracting, even discomforting. It goes against reason, what we are told is not possible: that you can’t be in 2 places at once; that you can’t hold opposite feelings; that time doesn’t accrue but marches on. But reason, like faith, is something we cling to in order to feel safe, as if safety is a given. Our need to explain, to prove, to know, is something we are taught to believe is elemental to our mental stability, necessary for navigating life. But nothing is fool-proof.
I’ve been feeling rudderless for most of this year and until now have not been amused by it. But suddenly I find myself uplifted. There is something rather exciting about drifting for a while. Letting go of the helm and idling for a while expands one’s horizons.
It’s been 2 weeks since I saw that stone wall and I realise, now, that the wall represented a sense of permanence which I was looking for. Something built by hand to last. Stones, stacked one atop another, like time itself, yet solid enough to withstand the elements. Of course, it’s an illusion, but we find comfort where we can. We’re all in need of a whiff of permanence here and there, something to ground us long enough to catch our breath before moving on.
With love,
Maggie
