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Tag Archives: France
A horrible horrible week. It felt like I was walking through Bedlam. But walk I did. I just kept on picking myself up, dusting myself off and returning to my creativity. I’ve been painting and organising the garden workshop and … Continue reading
It’s exquisite isn’t it, the image. It’s part of an illustration, the original of which is an Indian (Asian) painting. It’s in a book I found in a ‘brocante’ near the house we used to own in northern France. We visited frequently, to browse the secondhand and antiquarian furniture and goods. The book is full of such delightful illustrations. This one pulls out to three times the width of the book, which is a French language version of a collection of short stories by Rudyard Kipling: ‘Monsieur l’Elephant’. It’s a ‘posh’ limited edition, marketed originally for children.
I wouldn’t have found this book had I not been at the time on a specific quest for books. I wasn’t looking for content however, just books with interesting covers. The idea was to recycle unwanted books into handbags by scooping out the insides (i.e. the texts), adding ‘sides’ of fabric and handles. Like many of my ‘good ideas’, it was doomed to failure of course.
I love forests and woods. In part it is because they represent shelter and therefore ‘home’, perhaps the ideal home, with walls that not only breath, but in doing so, produce ‘breath’ for the humans who dwell in them. Dense canopies of leaves are ‘sighing’ ceilings, which open and close in tune with weather and season and from which food falls a-plenty for nourishment of man, beast and bird. The forest is where man and creature can peacefully co-habit. While man builds his shelter at ground level, the treetops are tenements to bird and squirrel.
A woman is wearing sunglasses on a dull, rainy day. She takes them off to reveal swollen and bruised eyes. “I walked into a door”, she says. Knowing looks are exchanged. Continue reading
Immediately, I was sceptical as I don’t believe that happiness is achievable and that a major source of personal misery is the pursuit of happiness! I figure that humans are born into tragedy. Because we have achieved ‘consciousness’ more than any other creature on the planet (though looking at some of my ‘conscious’ brothers and sisters, I wonder) at some point we (unhappily) become conscious of our mortality.
Actually, my personal revelation that happiness is unachievable has made me quite happy!