pretty. powerful. words.

pretty.

Undulatus asperatus, NZ | Witta Priester
Undulatus asperatus, NZ | Witta Priester

powerful.

Tornado cloud, Bermuda | Unknown credit
Tornado cloud, Bermuda | Unknown credit

words.

Consider yourself.
I want you to imagine a scene from your childhood.
Pick something evocative…
Something you can remember clearly, something you can see, feel, maybe even smell, as if you were really there.
After all, you really were there at the time, weren’t you? How else would you remember it?
But here is the bombshell: you weren’t there.
Not a single atom that is in your body today was there when that event took place. Every bit of you has been replaced many times over…
The point is that you are like a cloud: something that persists over long periods, whilst simultaneously being in flux. Matter flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to be you. Whatever you are, therefore, you are not the stuff of which you are made.
Steve Grand

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artistic resinance

Alive Without Breath | Keng Lye
Alive Without Breath | Keng Lye

Stunning. I’m actually lost for words.

The full series Alive Without Breath can be seen here; but this beautiful octopus by Keng Lye is definitely my favourite.

contagious curiosity

feynmanR

Part eccentric, wholly genius and as a friend of mine excitedly stated the other day “He’s cooler than Snoopy!”; we should all pause to listen to this man’s infectious, radiating enthusiasm for the scientific side of life.

Ground-breaking and inspiring, with a speaker’s ease; Ladies and Gentlemen I give you, the late, Richard Feynman. A man who found wonder and beauty in every single thing.

Richard Feynman – Ode To A Flower from Fraser Davidson on Vimeo.

Or, if you prefer something with a little more drama, there are a mere 4 days left to catch The Challenger on BBC iPlayer. (William Hurt doesn’t do too shabby a portrayal either!)

one photo. one poem.

Mirror | Geir Magne Sætre
Mirror | Geir Magne Sætre

I stumbled across these captivating words today.

The Invitation by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah ,
from the book The Invitation
published by HarperONE, San Francisco,
1999 All rights reserved

there’s no place like home

View from Farnham Keep

Sometimes in our haste to see as much of the world as we can, we forget to appreciate the beauty that surrounds us.
Whilst at the castle this morning, I came across this excerpt by English novelist Edna Lyall (Ada Ellen Bayly 1857–1903) about Farnham and its surrounding villages; a gentle reminder to open our eyes to the wonderful area we live in. We are very lucky.

‘Surrey is like a plain shawl with a beautiful border’, and surely the most exquisite part of the border is in the neighbourhood of Farnham. Merely to repeat the names of the villages and hills is to recall a vision of typical English loveliness. Tilford, with its giant oak; Churt and Hindhead; Moor Park, with its memories of Swift and Stella; Waverley, with its ruined abbey; Crooksbury, with its pine-clad heights; the Hog’s Back with its glorious views on either side; and that grand stretch of sandy heather-clad country with little fir hills springing up here and there, which is unsurpassed in any other district. To come back from scenery like this to the peaceful green meadows, and the winding river, and the quiet little town with its picturesque streets is, to my mind, much more delightful than a hasty and wearisome tour in a foreign land; and sweeter far than any foreign carillon are the well-known Farnham chimes.

a Sorren concept

With works that inspire the imagination in all of us, Joe Sorren captures innocence, melancholy, a gentle strength, surrealism and transformation with a rich and vibrant fairytale-like palette that draws you in.

A big thank you to RK for introducing me to his work.

Here are a couple of my favourites.

In Her Silent Way | Joe Sorren

Mother and Child | Joe Sorren
Brother Constantine | Joe Sorren

George Frederic Watts (1817 – 1904)

‘It is no exaggeration to say that the Watts Cemetery Chapel is one of the most beautiful, one of the most extraordinary, original, marvellous and magical buildings in the whole of the British Isles!’- Lucinda Lambton

A wonderful day out with a wonderful friend at the Watts Gallery & Chapel.
With a fusion of styles that just seem to work, the chapel is beautiful in winter but I am sure it will be simply breathtaking in summer with the sunlight caressing its stunning architecture and intriguing interior artwork; so I will definitely be going back! A local and national treasure.

Watts and his wife Mary founded the gallery in 1904, and in 2011 it went through a dramatic revamp that has left it standing proud within equally interesting and beautiful grounds. Whilst the gallery is full of Watts’ more well known works such as ‘Hope’ or ‘Time, Death and Judgement’, I was enthralled by the haunting ‘A Sea Ghost’ and, my favourite piece of all, a portrait of Watts by Charles Couzens that has a most luminous, captivating quality about it.

A Sea Ghost by GF Watts 1887 | Copyright Watts Gallery
GF Watts by Charles Couzens 1849 | Copyright Watts Gallery