Friday, July 13, 2012


Rain & alchemy. On the seventh day it rained all day. All day the water washed the collective mind we inhabit.

A chair & a mirror were assembled & the space creaked a little more open as a blind, bowl & sheet shone. Simple utilitarian items that together make living less harsh.

The day before we had traced a path to Choisy-le-Roi where hung from an enormous ivy entwined tree two aluminum sculptured pieces by Louise Bourgeois. At first they resembled beehives but on closer examination were two bodies wrapped around each other. Or were they mouths being gagged? Named "The Welcome" they identified the newly married, especially emigrants from all around the world: "... are you welcome. Or are you foreigners we want to get rid of?" The streets were relatively empty and plums fell from sidewalk trees.

In the evening a huge embrace from Robert Bresson's nephew followed by beer & cheese and talk ranging from renowned French geographer, writer and anarchist Jacques Élisée Reclus to the process experienced during work with Ludwig Flaszen when the world stops. His darting eyes and gestures of an aesthete could not deter his generous spirit. A raconteur thirsty for stories.

The day before that we stood in line at Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord to sit on pillows in the aisle of the first balcony for the comic ballet The Bourgeois Gentleman by Moliere and music by Lully. The theatre a rustic jewel reopened by Peter Brook that has only strayed slightly from its founding policies of 1974 spoke of a rich traditional culture both in decay and renewal.

Marmot asked what was missing?

I felt the incongruities between the Japanese choreography of Kaori Ito and the musical form played so eloquently by The Baroque Ensemble of Limoges created a tension if not dramatically perhaps stylistically.

Marmot dismissed the idea.

We have burrowed & meandered on the border zones where daily routine blends with the sweat & spiritual "eternal return of the eternal" dimension. The life laboratory will always find the lavatory nearby.

:: Note :: ... a week in Paris ...

Monday, July 09, 2012


Summer afternoon by the Siene.

Once you've seen Cezanne apples you can't look at apples the same way again. Really? She tells me she doesn't have a plan. There is worry on her face and she jokingly corrects herself.

When you walk the streets of an old world city do you feel the ghosts of history oppressing the space within? Why do we want to capture ourselves in the picture of Notre Dame?

A child plays the Play Me I'm Yours piano in Hopital Hotel Dieu as we seek solace from the unknowable. Bandages and silent corridors of people murmuring in black provide relief.

But when the sky opens on the Pont au Change bridge the Seine flows through the radiance of the panorama of the city with it's golden domes and white stone walls and the talk on the spirit of place, how objects or closed spaces contain the past, dissolves. How deep is the Siene?

Pass the backside where you dare not walk at night trying to identify the year of the blue doored building, its splendid sliver of light precious beyond beliefs.

We be at the place we now call home though we have but shared the attic for three brief nights. Enough time to clean the floor and grow accustomed to the carpeted then bare wooden stairs, all four flights.

Baguette & rice-cake before the deep sleep. Imagine a crumbling cobblestone way, a starry pavement & an invisible handrail. Without a path we go everywhere. The forests are ancient. Older than all of us. Our acts should cross out the world like an empty barge gliding on the grey waters. Push the chair under the open window which looks out on the street to watch the Siene float away. Our survival we owe, just barely, to perpetual birth. Close the window.

Tell me your Sunday.

Sunday, July 08, 2012


Viewing Monet's Nymphéas series at the The Musée de l'Orangerie, In the Tuileries gardens, Paris is a deep meditation of a sustained practice on the presence of light ...

... the Water Lilies panels change moment by moment under the natural light filtering in through the daylight sky ... the serene movement of the eight curved walls (Morning, The Clouds, Green Reflections, Morning with Willows & four others) within the two white elliptical rooms is broken only by the awkward jerky humans walking through the Gallery

... an education of the eye ...

Look to where the light reflects.
Look with peripheral vision.
Move slowly & enter the color.
Be still & breathe with every movement.
Adjust the gaze & release.
When you are empty smile.

::Note:: ... we immerse ourselves for two hours bathing in the "decompression space" ...