When I look at buildings—especially tall buildings—my thoughts bloom in ordered chaos. I’m immersed with a roster of details, the majority qualitative in nature.
How many companies are in there…? Love the bronze-colored curve separating the floors….It’s close to 6:30 pm and a lot of office lights are still on. Who’s staying late and why…? Who packs a lunch every day or buys it…? Wonder what the employee with the longest tenure does….Wonder what the annual cost is for water, electricity, insurance, taxes and health benefits…What’s the ratio of happy workers to unhappy ones…?
Those glass panels look so flat, but the reflections appear distorted or wobbly looking. And in most cases, a lot of those panels appear clean, at least from my viewing area far below on a sidewalk.
The one thought that bookends my wanderings is the thought that a bunch of talented workers had a lot to do in the creation of these vertical colonies. I can just hear a philosophical remark from either one of my two favorite protagonists—Charlie Brown and Linus van Pelt—“Could you imagine what could be achieved if every member of society collaborated with a baseline of common good and purpose for everyone….?“
In 2005, PBS aired a series entitled, “American Masters” which showcased the work of legendary if not ground breaking artists. I enjoyed watching the series, but one program struck a chord: Richard Avedon: Darkness and Light.
One comment in particular stuck with me. Essentially, Avedon mentioned “the landscape of the human face.” Lines, creases, smooth or rough, dark or light and every combination in between, a person’s countenance says a few things about an individual’s life journey and current life stage.
I suppose any season is good for “time travel.” Case in point: The Hancock Shaker Village in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Throughout New England and other parts of the country, living museums provide a chance to feel what we could only imagine.
Such places serve to remind us of what we have. Or what we’ve lost.
On a particular Saturday evening, I was reminded of the power of conversation. The Shakers traditionally have family dinners, meaning you sit at a table–often a rather long one–and enjoy supper together. This particular night came via the Food for Thought series, a HSV summer event whereby one sits and enjoys a gourmet farm-to-table dinner and conversation. From June thru August, an author is invited to dine, discuss and engage about a recent book that she/he has published.
Traveler, award winning writer, bestselling author, Mr. Simon Winchester.
The narratives can be compelling. Unsurprisingly, there’s the conversation of getting-to-know a bit more about a person, not the least being the author who’s about to recount a journey of research, writing, editing and more.
Like the author, the guests had their own experiences to share. Most were familiar [snippets of life’s journey from a father-mother-engineer-lawyer-financial manager-medical doctor, e.g.], and others were fascinating to hear and talk about. In attendance was a young student of epidemiology, and I should have talked with him beyond his academic CV [Princeton, then John Hopkins]. It would’ve been fascinating to hear more about the rise of diseases and other ailments that can quickly wreak havoc on populations around the world.
The beauty of talking face-to-face is that beyond the words you hear, you’re also emotionally involved. Expressions, gestures and tone each hint at nuances that can be missed when engrossed with email and text messages.
I enjoy the various digital communication platforms and they can be timely if not helpful. However, there’s still something to be said about connecting with people face-to-face. And that kind of connection can make such a difference in your comings and goings day in, day out.
Carolyn Kay Brancato greeting her guests prior to her reading.
I was 15-minutes early to an advertising and marketing function taking place elsewhere, when just down the road a ways stood The Bookstore & Get Lit Wine Bar . I love bookstores, especially these quaint shops containing new and pre-owned books. And here, it just so happened author, playwright and choreographer Carolyn Kay Brancato was on hand to talk about her first novel, “The Circus Pig and the Kaiser: A Novel Based on a Strange but True Event.”
When you walk into such functions wearing a suit, tie and smile, it’s easy to be taken as one of the guests. Perhaps acceptance was made easier because of the suit, even though I was the only person with one on. I wasn’t crashing the party per se; it was an open event. Besides, until I walked in, I just wanted to peruse the shelves to kill some time. Somehow being immersed in a bookstore accelerates the passage of time. Before I knew it, almost 20-minutes went by.
Ms. Brancato was attendant to familiar faces and a handful of new ones [like me]. She was a confident and comfortable raconteur equally adept in catching up with news of the comings and goings in The Berkshires. Friends and acquaintances arrived from near and far: Long Island, Boston, Hudson, NY, Manhattan in addition to other towns and hamlets here in the western most part of Massachusetts.
And of course there was a respectable spread of food, though what made it even more inviting was the “Lit Bar” which was part of the bookstore. It was small and cozy, roughly the width of three folding chairs though it stretched from the front of the store to the very back it seemed. Were it not for a standing room only crowd, I would’ve clicked a photo or two; besides I needed to make sure not to be late for the other event taking place.
Albeit short, I enjoyed the serendipity of stopping by. To listen to conversations about literature, books, life, travels and more, was refreshing. What this all means is I need to return with my better half to take a closer look at the books and to, of course, have a glass of wine with her…
However, I didn’t leave empty handed. I found a terrific book, “The Rain in Portugal” by Billy Collins. Yes, that is THE Billy Collins, a former U.S. Poet Laureate. It was his twelfth collection of poetry and judging from over a thousand reviews, it looks pretty inviting. Odd. It’s been decades since I picked up a book of poetry.
This is what happens when you walk into a really nice, cozy bookstore that has its own wine bar.
Wherever and whenever possible, the grandsons engage body, mind and soul in imaginative play. And it’s good for them. We encourage such play and the possibilities that open up for their young selves.
If you watch them, listen to them, their imagination and enthusiasm bursts with a palpable vigor of discovery. We could learn a thing or two from such unbridled vigor.
An arm extended is a wing just as the rushing, whooshing sound from their mouth is that of fast-moving air giving lift to the aircraft. You can’t ignore their commentary for it further explains the depth of their imagination and understanding of how they play. “He’s way up in the sky…diving down then up again…he goes very far and very fast.”
I see in all their imaginative play a power that exceeds that of any CPU. What they emotionally and physically feel, the how of what their mind’s eye offers, when they encounter a challenge [“He won’t share the glider!”]—or arrive at a compromise or solution—every bit of it adds to their development as communicators, problem-solvers, collaborators and empathetic beings.
Indeed seeing these two boys and all that they say and do remind me to nurture my own imagination. At least not to ignore it. The why of such nurturing can liberate and acknowledge a sense of purpose and triumph. Many of us are unlikely to realize our loftiest, most ambitious dreams and goals, but pause and think again.
Our imagination can fuel possibilities that can manifest into a journey that’s not only our own, but a story genuine to our sense of self .
“Blue skies, smiling at me, nothing but blue skies, do I see.” Irving Berlin
It just hit me. This color blue. It was electric, cheerful, optimistic, surreal and more. Not sure why, but it just was.
So, I took a photo.
Ella Fitzgerald recorded a terrific rendition of this song. Perhaps we should cue it up and listen to it more often. The lyrics just might move you from a place you don’t like, to one that’s much more hospitable if just kinder.
Many artists come to mind when the genre of surrealism becomes a topic for discussion–or bone of contention–but Salvador Felipe Jacinto Dali y Domenech is one that occupies a notable position in the annals of imaginative imagery and surrealistic interpretation.
The Slave Market & Disappearing Voltaire
If your preferences lean toward realism, then Dali can and will, leave you wondering why such creations are in a museum, indeed, an eponymous one at that. Art is Art and its value depends on so many areas of technical and aesthetic measures. For the rest of us mortals, subjective interpretation is all we can muster. I overheard someone trying to understand one of his paintings and his somber remark was, “Salvador Deviant.”
Portrait of deceased brother if he lived to be an adult.
Art is what you make of it. It means you can be apathetic, sympathetic, curious, appreciative, angry, happy, bewildered, uncertain, confident, disappointed, insulted, overwhelmed, inspired or even validated.
You have to appreciate his creative genius when you’re pulled into one of his canvases only to be taken aback when the image changes. In one moment you see 2 nuns, then a blink later, you suddenly see a face made in part by the same 2 nuns [cf first image above for Voltaire].
Interactive self-portrait.
My self-portrait is an interesting take on a photo booth, but one more entertaining if not interesting. In a way I’m borrowing a slice of time from Dali’s world. A simple souvenir for me, though I suspect Dali would’ve seen a leitmotif kindred to the impertinence and sarcasm of his painting, Persistence of Memory.
The itinerary reads, “4-hours, 34 minutes” of travel time. Not unreasonable considering point A to B is about 1,200 miles [1,931 km]. Fortunately, I can get a nap without much effort.
Alternatively, I can journal and even snap a photo or two. Which I did. And I also thought back on Christopher Nolan’s film, Interstellar. The recent news about capturing a photo of a black hole and what seems to be renewed interest in the cosmos has sparked [again] my curiosity about time and space and relativity.
One line in the movie fascinates me to no end: “One hour here [on an alien planet] is 7 hours on earth.” Because the crew traveled through a worm hole at almost the speed of light, time dilation occurred. Theoretically, it means time moves slower when you’re travelling extremely fast.
While it would be a major convenience to reduce travel time across the globe, I consider some of that time in transit as quiet time, even meditative. We’re already rushing–to arrive here–to get over there. It’s an overused saying but, “life is better viewed as a journey rather than a destination.”
The most fearless among the fearless are the workers that brave conditions which make our primal–often most private fears–come to surface.
The professionals who clean the windows of tall buildings are a good example of the breed.
To think they’re suspended in place with nothing but a saddle harness, a rope connected to that saddle, and the rope routed typically through a figure-8 or other type of belaying device. And where that rope is anchored on the roof is a mystery to me.
Not surprising, but always impressive, the windows are wonderfully clean and clear.
Carlo Centeno 