Snow makes you tip-toe, or talk in a hushed voice so as not to waken those things that are sleeping through it. I can see my hot breath turn to an icy fog that seems to stop time. It makes me feel like an alien here...a spy in the house of winter, as I gather dead wood to make a fire and wait for spring.
Lovin' those from Summer here. The black twigs, the white snow.
all of these are exquisite, and especially number 3 and the last two, which seem very japanese to me (though they would not be what they are without the others :-) ... this world just now coming into being or just now fading into the blankness of the snow is almost a definition of beauty :-).
This forest is like the one in 'Ivan's Childhood' after Masha and the Captain have left...
switch off the lightthe trees stand togethereasier thento be in our bodiesgrowing quietly‘dem tode entgegen’slow it isa slow businessto grow a few wordsto say love---Anselm Hollo
lovely stills ...
Upon looking at these I immediately thought of one of my favorite painters: Cy Twombly These have such a tactile quality, more like gestures stemming directly from the movement of a brush or charcoal; pure energy.
Perhaps you are waiting for love, your love, in this quiet forest. My hope, my wish for you is that he, the one you wait for, would use his own words -- words he cannot easily slide in and out of, but words he claims as his own, with a name. Anna (moth)
Ecriture radiographique, calligraphie végétale, subtile comme un songe.
myth, i understand your feeling... i also feel the need to suspend my breathing, so that the white stillness of this landscapes remains untouched by any presence...merc, Summer!!! i will never grow accustomed to this mystery, that you live in summer and i am here in the middle of winter (more snow to come by the end of the week!).James :-) the photos that you have pointed out are also my favourite ones in the series, yes, but i thought, as you say, that they need the others too, somehow (maybe it is a mistake, i always end to make too longer series :-)billoo, oh Ivan's Childhood!!! yes yes, i see that. that one is one of the most beautiful forests ever, i believe...
anon, the Hollo poem is wonderful, thank you - i think that, the older i get, the better i understand the meaning and the importance of slowness (fortunately - or not, for the mundane life - i am a very slow person by nature, this helps :-)thank you, fff...Stickup, oh, Cy!!! i would have never thought of this comparison, he is one of the painters i am fascinated with and a recent discovery, maybe two years ago i found out about his work and this summer in berlin i had the opportunity to see some of this paintings, it was a wonderful experience!
Anna (anonymous),thank you for telling me your name, i feel a name is important, somehow... thank you for your comments as well and for caring about the Bridge and for expressing your wishes for my well-being... though i don't look for anyone in this forest, except for quiet, and the stillness of white :-) any words, any speaking, in fact any gesture (mine as well, not only some other's) would spoil that anyway! :-)the Bridge is not about a quest for a lover, in fact not a quest for _any person_, as you seem to suspect - it is only about self-discovery, and if i seek something, though i am not sure about that, it is only beauty :-) merci, chere Plum', moi aussi j'avais un peu pense a la calligraphie japonaise... je t'embrasse...
hello my beautiful friend, another beautiful mystery oh I was going to say masterpeice but this works. how I love the elegance of this series.the beautifully branched natural calligraphy of the tree of lifewritten across the mortalscape that are erased in time to become the sublime whiteness, astream of words and colourful stellar impressions streamed to the purity of stark naked white abstraction,because abstraction is a universal statement.and this beautiful image is reminiscent of stellar speckss the written letters of creation.I enjoyed my dream on the bridge today.thankyou.sending you snow kisses.we have lots of snow here currently.The sidewalk is well scraped and erased haha but the piled snowbank running across the sidewalk is about 8 feet tall and I think I will phone the city to have it tapered.it just seems a bit too incongruent with what is happening in the rest of the city.HUGS>
Musical notes upon the white page.Charcoal markings on textured paper.Ink lines playing in staccato rhythms.Nature's notes to herself as she journals the passage of winter.
the images are superb ~ (photo)graphic delight and all i love love love but but buti cannot help it but wish winter does't stretch for monthsi wish knowing it could be different or can it?i smile . . .
Six and seven are complete destruction for me.
se poate,asa cum spuneai,sa se formeze un stil.dar,cred eu,fericite cazurile in care se formeaza in acest fel,in ipostaza cuiva care poate sa vada tot si sa ofere patina lui inconfundabila fiecarui fir de iarba sau de zapada,fiecarui trunchi nevazut sau nebanuit.cred ca stilul este acea amprenta indelebila a unui lucru unic pe care il cautam in varietatea infinita a lumiildar cred ca stii toate astea,voaim doar sa repet:)sunt atat de puternice toate acele nasteri in alb,nimic nu poate sa stearga ceva de acolo,este o promisiune atat de vie a ceea ce poate fi orice lucrusor uitat de pasii mari ai oamenilor,incat imi vine sa spun ca ai anulat diferentele dintre lucruri:)si aud ceva ca o matase alunecand peste zapada de sticla,poate cateva rasete,poate un suspin care isi cauta frunzele ramuroase...
Madeleine, thank you, i know you have the same love for calligraphy that i have :-)we don't have any snow here any longer, it's been quite warm recently, rather early spring weather, i am still looking forward for more white... Lynne, are you aware that what you have written is a poem? :-) and a lovely one, thank you for offering it on the Bridge :-)Tanya, i know, the japanese start to prepare for spring already in january, you can see symbols for peach and plum flowers, the first to open, slowly making their appearance :-)Prospero :-)i remember your first words on the Bridge, and they were in a similar veine - this astounds me! :-)Cerasela, of stilul - nu am încă un răspuns la asta, mai ales că, din interior, este mai greu de văzut - probabil că rămâne un paradox, o închisoare dar şi singura formă autentică de a fi în lume, pe care o poate lua viziunea cuiva - "din această dilemă nu puteţi ieşi, am zis!" haha