Oh Dear

And Oh My! I saw this and could only puzzle over it. I don’t know the artist or the location or the time period. Someone did point out the shoes, suggesting the Netherlands or Holland. I suppose the time  period is irrelevant. But I don’t know the suggested meaning. A title by the artist always helps a great deal. At least it could point us in the right direction.

the psychedelic museum

The Psychedelic Museum

I understand that meaning is subjective and we can take or give whatever it is that is suggested to us. But. When I look at this I wonder if it is the skeleton of the person who lives here or if the skeleton is waiting for the person who lives here.

Or. Does the skeleton not exist for the person who lives there, the unbidden reminder of the death that awaits us all? Is it a specter? Is it that one place is set and the other is forever waiting for what or who will join us?

I do note that the skeleton is quite tired, his (or her) head tilted downward. And yet, the candle is still lit, and is new. In any case, I am fascinated by this portrait of puzzlement. Oh…oh…another thought. Is it perhaps Time that is waiting and dying at the table we have yet to join?

So you see, wouldn’t a title help? Or is one of the central reasons this is so enchanting that we don’t know?

The Sails

Les Fauves : The Wild Beasts

Les Fauves / The Wild Beasts

Auguste Herbin (French, 1882 – 1960)
Bateaux a voiles 1907
oil on cardboard 52 x 65 cm

Private collection

Sails always make me think of time. I’m not sure exactly why, perhaps because of the movement. But boats alone don’t feel that way, nor does water, open or not. Maybe some long lost association from childhood, or a passing comment. The mind always a gyre of secrets and stories.

Other Worlds

~ W.B. Yeats
oldmosswomansSexcGaarden

Old Moss Woman’s Secret Garden

Once, many years ago, in a park, I left this world for another. I don’t know how I got to the park, why I was there. It may have been part of some event—a birthday, a picnic—something. I walked off by myself, following the chain-link fence that separated the park from the river flowing by on the other side. Perhaps I was looking for a break in the fence so that I could sit next to the water, dangle my feet in the current. I didn’t find a break in the fence, but I noted a duck nest and a mama duck, the dull mallard color denoting the female, blending with the undergrowth next to the fence. It was stepping down, bending past the nest, into it that left the waving air of ether that pushed me into itself. I don’t know how long I was there, inside that funnel of other, or what it meant. I just knew that I was there. I had a sense that I was invisible to the people standing outside, though I didn’t know for certain. I could not see out. I was just there. And then I walked out, the other end away from the duck nest. I tried to go back, to find the nest again, but I could not. I went back to the picnic, joined some others—strangers I knew. And then the day passed like any other, like thousands of other days in a park where we would eat sandwiches and laugh in the sunlight, spend those infinite high school days of summer.

Some weeks later, much later, I tried to find the park again. That was strange too, as I don’t recall ever being there before or since. I don’t know how I found it, but I did. I took the walk along the fence, watching the undergrowth as I went, willing the nest to reappear. But it did not. No matter how much I looked or how far I walked, I could find nothing. No nest, no doorway, no path. Nothing. Perhaps I had taken some flight of fancy, launched some capsule of time which only landed in memory. And then, on that day, it returned to the nothingness of disbelief.

And just how it came to be, I have forgot.

A Brief Word…

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Abandoned Spaces

 

 

 

that being Time. Time, of itself doesn’t seem to much care and it comes and goes as it pleases, mocking the cries of all earthly creatures. In the photo, not the clock of Time, but the mirror of time. Look into it and see the past and the present at once. Alas, it will not allow a glimpse of the future.

 

taoZen3

Tao & Zen

What Of Time

goodread

Posted by GoodReads

This house seems as if it’s made to reflect a previous century—18th? 19th? Note the slate floors, the many rugs of colors and design. The books gone beyond the library and into the sitting room. See the book on the book stand there? Music or Art, one in any case.

And we wonder what our ancestors (without the information) would make of today’s date—the ECLIPSE. The end of the world? And I must go now and ready myself for that very thing. Will the animals go silent? Will the music close off? What world, what century, what time does this touch?