Wednesday, 23 January 2008


remembering some Chinese calligraphy ponds I saw sometimes ago. a little sad, a little dreamy. my lake is not chinese, but maybe it is just for the better. I can imagine the whole trip to that distant misty country, myself by the border of those chimeric lakes, again and again, untainted by memory.


  1. it's a nicely melancholy photograph. ach i want to see more of your photographs, i really like their mood, i think those plants, dead waterlilies make it a bit chinese somehow, a bit sad, but then again not in a volatile sense sad....and that's maybe sad too, a suffocationg sadness...

  2. i love it, and am glad to get to know you a little better.

    do you know this woman's stuff? i've loved it for a long time.

    interesting what antonia says. i don't see them as dead, i see them as winter. her comments make me think again about what i experience as being the invisibly thin line between sadness and beauty. maybe both induce a kind of surrender?

  3. thats a wonderful, wonderful picture...

  4. thank you, it made me happy to see how much you liked it. I'll be posting more waterlilies soon.

  5. no, lotus, I didn't know the lotus pictures by Lois, it is a pitty thay are so small though, I couldn't find a way to look at them in a bigger size. I think everyone who is fascinated by Japanese aesthetics is very sensitive to the subtle tension between sadness/death and beauty. I think this is a kind of sine qua non... reading your comment made me think of Kawabata's Beauty and Sadness - not among his best books for me, but full of that suffocating - and still volatile - sadness Antonia was speaking of.

  6. you can see them bigger in the book-- i think it's called china (not her newest one). it's a gorgeous book.

    when the book came out there was a show, so each image was online, bigger, but it's gone.

    perfect title.

    it's funny that i hadn't come across this concept outside of myself until now.