Channel-Surging

I like swimming through surge-channels, feeling and resisting the force of the water, wondering how it must be for an otter or fish to live in the midst of this liquid medium. When my resistance fails, when my kicking doesn't matter, and I'm shoved deep into the crevices and crannies of the rocks, I'm not unhappy; rough handling is part of the deal, and the wetsuit's padding helps against the sharp edges of barnacles and mussels, the spines of urchins. Sometimes, my resistance works and I hover, balanced amidst the vortex. Of course, then another wave breaks, and another. Thrown about or poised, I don't ignore my surroundings. I'll mimic the fish or the limpet, as needed, or with the scant grace at my command, embrace in succession the fluidity of the kelp, the stolidity of the mussels with their byssal thread anchors, and the reflexive exuberance of the otters and seals, true marine mammals.

Underwater tidepooling: I move against and through the surge funneled by the wall-like rocks, kicking firmly and angling downward beneath the fullness of the sea's flexing to avoid being shoved and thrown like mere flotsam. I dive below that surface, but the shallowness here keeps me in the surge, which I like, which is why I'm playing in among these rocks rather than out in deeper water. Submerging here intensifies that sense of being held in the water's palm, that sense of being otterlike, for a moment, being merman instead of mere Matt.

This was a rather mild day at the beginning of summer, neither hot nor cold, cloudy but clearing. I was swimming along the shore near Coral Cove in Pacific Grove with camera, disposable, and curiosity, indispensable. What did Dictionary Johnson say? "Curiosity is one of the permanent and certain characteristics of a vigorous mind."

That quotation, these simple photos with their otter-pov, and the experiences of that day (and so many other days like that one) all please me, but my words here (despite revisions) feel forced, still too static and rigid. I'll have to work on that. A more current kelp-bath is called for to refresh my memory, to invoke the salt of the mer-muse.

Brecca the Bull

A figure of fun, but no Unferth. This is my small envisioning of Brecca, Beowulf's opponent/companion in that swimming competition amidst the rough waves and rougher monsters of the North Sea. Troublemaker Unferth brings up the competition, claiming that Beowulf lost, but the Mighty Geat sets the story straight and sends Unferth into retreat by a well-placed personal jab. According to Beowulf, Brecca couldn't swim away from him, and he choose not to outswim Brecca just yet. The two men spent days swimming, swords in hand, until a storm on the fifth night separated the two men, and then Beowulf was beset by nicors, nine of which he slew, before coming ashore in Finland, I believe. I always wondered what happened to his swimming companion. And I always wanted to hear Brecca's version of the story.

If Beowulf may figure as the Bee-Wolf or the Bear (aren't kennings fun?), then Brecca ought to figure as a Ram, Boar, or Bull, some stubborn beast. The Breaker figured in my mind, finally, as Bull. I'd meant to form a complete set, a chess set, of such figures from Northern myth and legend, but I don't play chess . . . .

Stoneware; glazed with seafoam. I like how the glaze broke well, filling in the hollows with a rich light blue and revealing the contours just the way I wanted. Art-luck.

By the way, reading the Anglo-Saxon epic in the original Old English showed me just how powerful Beowulf is with words. Translating for myself, I could feel fully how this character is articulate, weighing words as well as deeds. In fact, he's diplomatic and devastating, whatever's needed, and no mere muscleman. Seamus Heaney's translation is my definite favorite, the one I turn to again and again, but the old E. Talbot Donaldson prose translation is the real deal too, a plain-style gem for accuracy and Northern European understatement, just like the original.

The Head of Odysseus

Who knew the ancient Greek hero, the ancient Greek scoundrel, would be so bald, so happy, so old? And yet, here he is: the aged, ancient Homeric figure.

Sculpture mix; unglazed as yet. My first head, formed in 2001 or so. I worked on the piece for a whole summer, not sure how to proceed or how to stop. Trisha K., my art teacher, was wonderfully supportive.

Postcard: Pt. Lobos in January

Pt. Lobos, January 2010: I'm standing with Kathie, one of Jim Grass's diving partners. Frank K. took and provided the photo. Kathie and Tom (not pictured) let Frank and myself tag along with them. Everyone that I've met through Dr. James Grass has been especially welcoming and helpful.

Note that I'm still wearing half my wetsuit in anticipation of a second dive. (Actually, the first dive was so good, so long, and so cold that--uncharacteristically--there was no second dive for me. I traded that potential water-time for lunch with Frank. Kathie and Tom went back underwater to shoot photos; Frank and I headed for Phat Burger in Seaside. And, the burger, a bacon cheeseburger actually, was really, really good.)

Chilly, yet mild for January; wool helped, still. Surge, sure, but not so bad. Good visibility: 35-40 feet. A fine diving-day.

Morning Light Before Diving

Whaler's Cove, Pt. Lobos State Park, Carmel, CA.

We headed out of this cove for our dive, seeking greater depths and better visibility than we'd have found here. I'm told the leopard sharks would have been gathering in the shallows, so exploration could have paid off. (There were two highlights of the actual dive for me. A cormorant kept swimming down by us at 60 feet and picking snails off the kelp. That bird was so relaxed and capable at depth. And, a sizable lingcod just lounged about, watching us watch him; you had to smile.)

Mnemonic Devices: What Eliot Said About Fragments

What are those lines from "The Wasteland" so dear to the heart of every English major? Something like "with these fragments I have shored up my ruins"?

Quoting from memory: a sin and a pleasure.

Driftwood: wood, water, salt; shaped by oceanic forces, marine creatures, and time; collected at either Monastery Beach, Carmel, or Goat Head Beach, Jenner. Octopus: sculpture mix, glazed with transparent brown and celadon; salvaged.