“Meanwhile, from the uncertainties of this age, this mad era of ours, we must turn perhaps, to the only certainties –– the things upon which our senses seize, the things that delight our eyes, our ears, our skin and to the magic aura created about these things by memory –– that so carefully and subtly magnifies the emotionally significant phases of experience, and suppresses all the rest.” — surrealist photographer Clarence John Laughlin, in correspondence to Hazel Guggenheim McKinley (10 July 1941)
I don’t think I need to enlarge on the uncertainties and madness of our times, do I?
Escapist that I am, or mystic, or human in need of connection to habitat: Another visit to Cape Cod, a week or so ago, and in that few days’ memory what persists is the tide, the rocks and shells — so much salt water, the scent, the feel of salt-saturated air on the skin — and the rabbits, snakes, butterflies, birds. And — made both more vivid and somehow also dreamlike in memory — the mist, the fog, the vistas, the colours.
Rocks & Shells
Mist and Fog
Vistas and Views
“You have stood before some landscape, which seems to embody what you have been looking for all your life … All the things that have deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it–tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest–if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself–you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say ‘Here at last is the thing I was made for.’” C.S. Lewis, from The Problem of Pain