eine Saite

I used to think that as an artist, I needed to DO something when I saw and felt a beautiful or powerful scene. That I needed to make art from that specific view or immersion or feeling.

But now I know that it’s more important to just be here with whatever is going on, to pay attention with all senses, which today felt like listening.

At some points, it was actually sound-focused, as when I reached the outermost curve of the point, and the gentle waves approached from my right, passed in front, and continued to my left - a wraparound sound of sea caressing small stones.

Or when I heard a distant peeping on the water, higher than gulls’ voices, and could see lots of tiny bird shapes in the distance. The app on my phone suggested they are Marbled Murrelets, a few of whom I did see close enough to recognize. Yes, they are as sweet looking as their names sound.

self portrait in wet rock - this one **almost** came home with me - those lines!

Generally it was just a form of attention, the sounds joining the light on water, the shapes in the sand, the language of the tide and the shore, and I listened to see what it might teach me.

the color and texture of the sand are striking me now, whereas when I made the picture it was a neutral ground for the shell and stone

In addition to reminding me that I don’t have to do anything ‘with’ this (but who can resist taking pictures when the colors and textures and shapes are so cool), the teaching today was that wherever I am is the view that matters. I’m often seeing the bay from up the hill, and thinking oh I have to get down there! But the truth is, I can only see the angle of light and reflection, for example in the first image, from just that point on the hill. So I stopped there long enough to appreciate that this view is unique to this spot, before continuing on. There’s some broad lesson in there, that the view from where you are now is unique and most important. It makes me slow down, which has to be a good thing.

I can’t claim to understand the heiroglyphic messages in the beach debris or the designs of rocks, but I have a priority these days of listening to wise language, whether I know what it means or not.

bonus spindle content, with green rocks to swoon over

Somehow, reading about Chinese Internet celebrities who spend hours editing selfies and make millions by attracting followers to look at the selfies made it seem urgent to post about a few things I've seen and photographed lately. (None of which will be edited, except to resize.)

The mushroom above was growing by the road near my house, in the ditch. The ground would have been completely closed over it, but for the strength of the mushroom's growing, which pushed up a thick pile of mulch, leaves, and vines. It created its own cave as it grew, making space by spreading and pushing up, and I could see how fairy tales imagine entire worlds taking place underneath mushrooms just like this.

And this is the mouth of the Elwha, which I've visited several times now. It changes dramatically every season, reshaping the beach. At this time it was running high and muddy, about twice as wide as it was last time I was here. The river is carving out the shore so that the stones on the surface go right up to the edge of the water and stop abruptly - the shore is being scooped out beneath them where the sand is soft.

There are so many sights and experiences around here to incite awe, wonder, astonishment. And they are happening all the time. All I have to do is be there and keep noticing. The sharing of it feels urgent, though, especially while the 'attention economy' thrives on the sharing of drivel. As a counterbalance, just consider the mushroom, the mouth of the Elwha, and the last images for which I have very few words.

I recently saw that Annie Dillard and Mary Oliver say much the same thing about this type of experience and its value:

You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment. - A. Dillard

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. - M. Oliver

And in describing Denis Johnson's books, Will Blythe says that they "embodied an astonishment at the very nature of life, an attitude that is in itself sacred."

Light and the surface of water.... it transfixes me.