On Vivian Maier - Jerry Saltz / Vulture (Sun 30 Jun 2014)

An Observer (*) - Barcelona (Tue 06 Aug 2013)
Jerry Saltz (*) writes On Vivian Maier (*):

She was a servant of her talent (*), compelled to use her servitude (*) to make what she needed to make. [..]

Bells go off when you look at her pictures; you become witness to something big. Proust talked of "the apogee of the particular." That's here. This gives Maier's work psychological and philosophical force, something deeply observant. At the same time, she also has an outsider's (*) view of the world. She's one who watches, silently observes (*), is alert to the tiniest disturbance in the visual or psychic field. [..] The valor of being alive comes into focus.

via Jerry Saltz on Finding Vivian Maier: An Invisible Artist and the Man Who Found Her (*) by Jerry Saltz (*).

On Living - The Story of Telling (Wed 13 Aug 2014)

I have battles in my life ("but I'm better for it") - Alexandria (Feb 2014)
The Story of Telling (*) writes On Life (*):

The irony of the human condition is that we fear (*) being invisible (*) and yet we fear being seen. We want to feel (*) like what we do matters (*), that our time here stood for something. And yet we know that when we stick our necks out we are opening (*) ourselves up to criticism (*) and failure (*). [..]

What Will Your Verse Be?

via What Will Your Verse Be? (*) by The Story of Telling (*).

Mine is already done (*), but I hope (*) I will be lucky enough to add to it.

Grief is concentrated in the face [take2] - The Art of Grief by Jonathan Walker

Grief is concentrated in the face. It makes the flesh sodden and unresponsive, dull with blood, like when you are drunk and heat comes off the skin like vapour off water, as if your vitality is evaporating into the air. The muscles go dead around the mouth and eyes. It almost hurts when others smile and your own face remains inert, held down by the drag and weight of the blood. The memory of grief stays in the flesh. The body recalls it, feels its weight, moulds itself automatically to its shape as the loss is remembered, the mask becoming tighter as the memory becomes clearer; not the memory of the dead person, but the memory of grief itself.

Page 24 The Art of Grief by Jonathan Walker

Geoff - "an early start for the first day of the rest of my life - 'where do you start?'" - Alexandria - 7am Wed 01 Jul 2009 (picasa)
Took this photo of myself the first morning after Jenny had died. I slept OK, all things considered and was up early - I had no idea what the day would bring. All I knew there was a Funeral to organise and many people to be contacted. No stranger to all of this, so I headed up to my usual Coffee shop (Cafe Sofia) so that I could have a few quiet moments to myself before the onslaught of the day.

Not sure why I took the photo - maybe so that I could remember that moment of numbness, despair and initial grief. I did a similar thing when my younger brother Tim died (see here).

The words above by Jonathan Walker (he reviewed one of my photos that I took in Newtown - see here) seem to match up with what I now see of myself in the photo.

The following gives some context to his writings on Grief - The Art of Grief - and its relationship to his new Novel - Five Wounds. It is complicated, but Grief is a long drawn out and complicated process. I am still trying to work it all out myself.

Five Wounds: An Allegory by Jonathan Walker

Five Wounds is a parable as well as a fairy tale. Throughout, it refers to an invisible, suppressed source: ‘The Art of Grief’, an abandoned essay on the deaths of my parents. This essay is never acknowledged directly within the novel, but it will be made available in March or April 2010 as a free download on my website for those who wish to investigate.

[..]

‘The Art of Grief’ is a key, which unlocks hidden meanings in Five Wounds. However, the relationship between the two texts is more complex than that of a riddle to its solution or a joke to its punch line, because Five Wounds has an independent life of its own. Its characters act according to their own natures, and make their own choices. They are not mere ciphers, condemned to act out episodes of my biography in a disguised, pathological form. The characters may be fantastic, but they are real within their own world, even when they unknowingly refer to events beyond its borders.

In this case, then, one text does not solve the other. Rather, Five Wounds places stolen fragments of ‘The Art of Grief’ in a new setting, which transforms their meaning, as the Venetians studded the façade of the church of San Marco with pieces of marble looted from Constantinople. Here, however, the arrangement is reversed. It is not the loot that shines brightly, but the container, within which the quotations are safely hidden away, like bones in a reliquary.

UPDATE: To download a PDF version of 'The Art of Grief', go to this part of my site

[Geoff: A repost of a version I was working on that somehow got posted on the 10 Apr 2010 - subsequently deleted and this is the remaining version.]

Ridden into the Ground and Loving It - Drew Ginn (Wed 08 May 2007)

Another Favourite Blog Post by Drew Ginn.

A great way of thinking about a maximum effort in any endurance sport.

I have taken up RPM again for my cardio fitness and the great thing with RPM Indoor Bike Sessions is that I get a chance to explore all these feelings in every 45 minute session.

For me it is a great way of training the mind to Win the Workout.

Ridden into the Ground and Loving It - Drew Ginn (Wed 08 May 2007)

It is an extreme sensation to run out of gas on the bike.

It's a wonderfully strange feeling that is painful, magical and exciting.

The energy this morning as we rode ourselves into the ground was very cool.

Each challenge to dig deeper was meet with that fear of failure, of seizing up, of not being able to hang on.

It was think like a sea fog and could not be escaped.

If for one moment we were to back off it would be the end.

The only choice was to roll on and push again into that space of fatigue and sting.

The remarkable thing is each time I go into this place, into this zone I find something special, something new.

A freshness presented itself and as I pushed further.

I found that I couldn’t just stand and fight, punch myself out.

Be smart w[as] a statement I could hear like a whisper from an invisible friend.

Be smart, again it came into my awareness.

We swung round a corner and the pace quickened, the surge is extraordinary and it occurred outside and within.

If for a moment I was to hesitate I knew I would loose connection, so to drive again was the command.

The pleasure is in the relationship the lies within the range and scope of extremes.

The vastness of feelings marks a cycle.

Not just the one we ride but the one that is ever present inside us.

The burning grew and as it did I thought, "how can I maintain this effort?"

Then in one foul and almighty swoop we were away again.

The release was wonderful as I gained new energy to challenge and step.

Every stroke of the pedal was one closer to the end of our ride.

As we encountered a slight rise away from another bend it had become noticeably more difficult.

The build up of accumulated resistance was so filling and even the little climb was laughing at us.

We dug, I dug and before we realised we are over and off again.

The joy was like a chorus of celebration that burst and gradually it turned into new momentum.

The final stretch was into a strengthening wind.

The speed became hard to maintain and as I noticed my position matching the challenge.

Lower and lower I became, grinding away.

The pressure was had developed into a constant strain that would not let up until the end of the straight.

As we crossed an imaginary line we sat up like some proud animal in the wild after a kill.

Gasping for air we an evident sign of the effort require and expended.

The wry smiles told the story and we rolled into our coffee shop and embarked on a different journey.

One of reflection as we each shared our version of the morning’s events.

We were all exhausted, we had ridder ourselves into the ground and we loved it.

Bikes - Levento / Italy (Thu 11 Aug 2005)

On Photography - Manic Habit - Gaby Wood (Mon 11 Mar 2013)

Reflection - Seoul / South Korea (Tue 11 Sep 2012)
Gaby Wood (*) writes about Vivian Maier (*):

Though the images themselves are full of composure, there is something magnificently manic about Maier’s habit: she was a kind of non-fiction outsider artist, insistent on a record, constantly clicking a shutter as if to prove that the only way of being was looking.

via Vivian Maier: Afterlife of the invisible woman (*) by Gaby Wood (*)