Lines Upon Lines

Riddles at Random

. . . in the rain.

A Man and A Boat

Self-portrait #52.


An empty boat
will volunteer for anything.

--Harrison and Kooser

Refraction

Lighting By Bushmills -- And Brendan Kennelly

Self-Portrait #52.

"We are all occasionally turned to stone by what we witness, think and feel.  Out of that same selfstone, the imagination moulds and coaxes a persona who, entering poems and animating them by his presence, is seen and felt to be a creature of flesh and blood.  The cold of stone is imaginatively caressed into human warmth, surely one of the transfiguring graces of poetry.  (It can happen the other way round too, and be no less a transfiguring grace.)"

--Brendan Kennelly, from his Islandman,
quoted in his Breathing Spaces: Early Poems, 
which I'm excerpted, respectfully, here, among other places in this blog.

I've felt like an Islandman, an enisled "selfstone", and I have wanted others to feel like islandmen or personae too, though I certainly didn't quite have the words for it until this passage from Kennelly.

A Novel Mirror

"The Antiquary was, indeed, uncommonly delighted; for, like many other men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, he had a secret ambition to appear in print, which was checked by cold fits of diffidence, fear of criticism, and habits of indolence and procrastination."

--Sir Walter Scott, from his novel The Antiquary.

Not A Pretty Sport

Hello 52nd birthday.

Free diving, Mendocino waters.

Kayaking: Berkeley Workout

I'm feeling more like myself, you know?

Foreground; Background

Just Shy Of Fifty-Two

I've outlived Keats, Shelley, and Byron by a considerable margin with not all that much to show for it.

The heat is on, then, to make the second half-century count.  I embrace the challenge.

Lines: evidence of time passing, though not of any mere passive passage of time.  Maps to the country of character, of mishap and what-have-you.  A lack of sunscreen, certainly; plenty of squinting into the sun, commuting, driving across bridges, kayaking and diving out in the glare.  Pool-time and sea-time too: dried skin from the chlorine and salt.  And all that reading, of course, the concentration above all those pages . . . .  And yet, and this is something I wear with pride: more smiles than anything, frankly.  There's an aspiration, don't you think?  Crease your face with good will and cheer, if you dare.  (I'm smiling as I type that.)

There's a poem by Robert Graves that comes to mind, though he was older when he wrote it.  I'll post it in a day or so.

This year I've written at least one poem worth keeping, and that's a fine judgment, a fine declaration.  More would be better, but then that's homework to be dealt with in the next few months.

Just now, right now, I am toasting all of us with a bit of Bushmills.  Carry on, and live as large as you can.

May the devil . . . oh, you know.  And, here's to King Brian in the interim.  I'm drinking Irish, after all.

Reprise: Aqua-Matt in Clay

Self-Portrait #47:
sculpture mix; green and shino glazing.
Summer 2008.

I just had a good quick swim session.  Feeling slightly connected to my aquatic self.

Otter Pelt Short

Keeping track: buzzcut 2013.

Hydrodynamic.

S-P # 51+

Salt For The Wound

Such salt solaces -- even as it burns.

(Photos from a happier day: PG / January 20, 2013.)

The Ocean In His Eyes

Misterioso Duck: 
sculpture mix; trans-brown and denim glazing.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore; 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar: 
I love not man the less, but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
--Lord Byron,

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage:
Canto IV, #178

Fiat Dux

(Tip of the beak to UCB and to EHS for the title.)

Caption? "Dude, Where's My Kayak?"

Or, "Paddles at dawn!"
(With a nod to SC.)

An old shot.  2008 or, most likely, 2009?  I picked up that shirt in Hawaii in 2008 with Keith . . . .

(I've been ill with a sore throat and a general achiness today, and so I've been taking solace in memories of past fun and folly.)

Easy Rider

Playing Pirate

Or, Winter White, Monterey-Style.

After kayaking on a bright January day.
Pacific Grove, CA.

(Self-Portrait #51+)

Macduck . . . On The Blasted Heath

The title makes no real sense, but I'm rereading my favorite of Shakespeare's tragedies, Macbeth, and so I'm indulging myself.

Self-portrait #51.

Banquo:  The earth hath bubbles as the water has,
          And these are of them.  Whither are they vanished?
Macbeth:  Into the air, and what seemed corporal melted
         As breath into the wind.  Would they have stayed.
                    (Act I, scene iii, 79-82)

Mateo: Three Faces (Naked, Hoplite, Diver)

Mateo in Morning Light.

As with living humans, that light can show nakedly the signs and emblems of age.

I think I did a fair job of capturing some of me at fifty, though in other ways this piece is a younger me and/or not me quite at all.  (If that's confusing, that's the Gemini coming through.)

Piece sculpted in a Self-Portrait Class: Summer 2011.

I've posted shots of this figure in the past on this blog.  

Hit the "Mateo" label-link below to see the other shots and commentary, if you'd like.

Mateo as Hoplite / Greek Warrior.

I use the helmet as a visual aid, seriously and/or humorously, when teaching Homer's epics or any of the Greek tragedies.

Mateo: Free Diver.

That's an old mask from the '80s.  Note the side ports for greater range of vision while diving.

This particular mask I picked up and gave to my father to encourage him to swim laps.  He didn't like the feel of standard swim goggles, so I suggested such a mask.  When he didn't pick one up for himself, I made a gift of this one.  I don't think he ever used it more than once or twice, at best.

Mateo: sculpture mix; denim glazing, poured over and mostly wiped off.

For the record, I'm not crazy about the end results here, but making this piece -- the largest single clay piece I've ever made -- has taught me much, not least about envisioning outcomes and artistic control.   The pallor is slightly disturbing, and the shininess of the blue seems just a bit too much.  I am not sure what I had expected or imagined when I glazed the piece.  And yet, Mateo strikes me as a very undersea  fellow, as a merfolk stand-in, which seems quite suitable too.