Life on the Edge

How will time judge me? Damned if I know.
My accomplishment is, I got up today.
I tried to write a poem. K’ung-fu Tzu said,
“The study of the low penetrates the high.”

The quote above (and below) from the poetry of Sam Hamill speaks to me on those slow mornings when high inspiration fails in its bid to whip me into a frenzy of creative endeavor.  Just getting out of bed and being a quiet observer provides sufficient meaning to the day. A walk of low expectations has many delights.

“.....And in the end,
it doesn’t matter that we suffered or
did not suffer for our art, but that we
found in verse the courage to stand against
the state, political and religious.

How often you’ve said you don’t know a thing
about Zen or the Tao, but you’re a sage
all the same, and in the tradition of
Chuang Tzu and Confucius, a questioner,
a loner who has struggled to reach out.”

“Quick”, I yell out to Sally. “Grab your rainbow hat and let’s go searching.” Sure enough, within minutes a rich vibrant arch of red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple cuts down out of the sky and lands just meters from us. Like circus kids beaming happy at the joyful stunts of clowns, our “in the studio all day” slightly tired moods are suddenly lifted by the magical antics of sun and rain.

The dark pelting clouds did their thing. Now, a rainbow sweeps in and waves a big “hello again” across the sky to those of us standing in awe below. Although the portents have been there all day—squalls of driving rain punctuated by open blue sky— it comes as a surprise, this rainbow, when the emerging sun meets the fleeing remnants of rain falling from the cloud’s tail end.

And, if anyone doubts the power of a rainbow to transform—not just figuratively, but literally, as well—count the number of fingers on Sally’s hand.

We’re not sure what to do with this blessing. Painting could be a bit easier with an extra finger to hold an extra brush, but buying gloves might prove difficult. 

I find it amazing that no matter how certain we are of things, not only are things susceptible to change, they can change in an instant. We can be looking right into the eyes of an issue, convinced of its reality. Then, with the subtlest shift of thinking or of events, it appears in a new light.

Graphically, this was demonstrated this week as I was photographing the bracken ferns that grow low to the ground in the area next to the storm deck known as “the windgrove”, the property’s namesake. In a matter of seconds, as a brief sun shower swept through and even as the tree’s shadows remained discernible, the light from the setting sun bouncing off the ferns shifted from golden to silvery. A whole new world appeared in a flash, as beautiful and as enchanting as what came before it. Who would have thought these two worlds existed so close to each other?

When things are going well, we might fear that the shit will soon enough hit the fan. True enough. But the situation is just as often the reverse: when things are at their darkest, something or someone can appear to give us hope. This happened in Australia last week when the federal minister for the environment (actually, minister against the environment) gave his approval for the southern hemisphere’s largest pulp mill to be built in Tasmania. It was a dark hour indeed and many of us felt understandably depressed. Yet within the day, the major newspapers and some highly influential CEO’s and other individuals came from behind their self imposed walls of silence and began speaking out against the political hypocrisy and economic stupidity of this project. Daily now, the ranks of opposition are swelling and, where last week I must admit to feeling the debate had been lost, today hope is showering down in a mixture of golden and silvery light.

In imagination is the preservation of wilderness. By this I mean one of two things. The first is that even while living deep within the confines of a city a person can close their eyes and imagine—quite vividly—the smells, visual details and tactile qualities of the green earth that they have in the past experienced. To call this up in one’s mind through one’s imagination is a powerful tool, not only for its calming and healing potential, but also to sustain and remind the political/environmental activist (while biding their time in solitary confinement at the local jail) why they engage in civil disobedience when pursuing legislative or other changes to protect and preserve wilderness.

The second meaning when I write “In imagination is the preservation of wilderness” is that an artist, through his/her imagination, has the ability (and quite possibility the responsibility) to create works of art that are expressive of the natural world and convey a sense of its inherent beauty. By so doing, these imaginative artistic renderings of nature’s beauty will serve to motivate people to protect wilderness areas because they have fallen in love with these areas through the imagination of the artist. Think of wilderness photographers Ansel Adams (America) or Peter Dombrovskis (Australia). Think of the poet Mary Oliver. Or, the sculptor Andy Goldsworthy. All focus their artistic efforts on the sublime beauty of nature. Their collective works are, indeed, iconic representations of the earth’s beauty.

Likewise for me.

Whenever I hold a sea shell in the palm of my hand I constantly marvel at the exquisite mathematical genius that is its beauty. In my studio I use my remembering of the shell at the beach—my imagination—to recall it into form. (Definition One above)

Outside my studio, my desire is that whoever views this sculpture will taste something of the sea in their handling of it and , thereby, fall a tiny bit in love with the natural world. (Definition Two above)

What I have carved can be simply described as a sea shell nestled into an organic kelp form. It can also be looked at (with a bit of imagination) as the billowing kelp giving birth to a sea shell.

Many religious traditions go to great lengths to explain their faith intellectually, but their real lure is in the beauty of their rites and images. When Gerard Manley Hopkins claims that “the World is charged with the grandeur of God,” I take it to mean that we can glimpse God in the electric beauty of nature and art.
.....Thomas Moore, The Soul’s Religion

Last year (1 April 2006) when writing about a sculpture similar to this one, I created a story about the birth of Beauty. As a starting point, I used the creation myth of the goddess Venus as portrayed by Botticelli’s painting “The birth of Venus”; sometimes referred to as “The birth of Beauty”. I proposed that if Venus came from a sea shell (the sea shell being symbolic of nature), just possibly the artistic portrayal of the birth of a sea shell could take us even closer to the source of all beauty—the electric beauty of nature Thomas Moore speaks about where we can glimpse God.

A bit convoluted I confess, but what the hell, even if my thinking process is a bit spirally, it is my own imaginative myth making, isn’t it? The story might fail on an intellectual level, but I do hope that there is a lure for the viewer in these photo images of the sea shell emerging swollen and smooth from the pregnant top side of a double layering of mating kelp. A lure both enticing and informative.

Now before my friends start bagging me for being either too religious or too blasphemous, let me just quote again from Thomas Moore: It is better to be on the cusp between religion and secularity than to fall into either category. For there is [a] paradox at work: the appearance of religiosity is often in inverse proportion to the quality of religious practice.

And, as beautiful as I think this new sculpture is, I am reminded of the humbling words of Rumi:

“So delicate yesterday, the nightsinging birds
by the creek. Their words were:

You may make a jewelry flower
out of gold and rubies and emeralds,
but it will have no fragrance.“

Length of “A Shell’s Birth”—5 feet / 1.5 meters