Amsterdam, a reflection

The crowd stands in front of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” and in front of Vermer's “Kitchen Maid”. These are the most famous art pieces, so we all want to see them. I have to admit that Van Goghs’ less famous Pink Peach blossom, painted for the birth of his nephew is one of my favorites. The Japanese feel of the pink and white blossom on the pastel blue background is very soothing to me.

The Rijks museum was friendly enough with Lots of Rembrandt, a few Vermer's including the special Kitchen Maid (maid pouring the milk), and woman with Balance. So distinct is the mood, the lighting and the background of his work. I got to reflect on the difference between this and the work of Richard Avedon, the fashion and portraits, the clean backgrounds and the placement of the figure in the space.

Van Gogh museum is pretty big with a whole new modern building hosting a special show of his work by night. Reading about him and seeing his work closely I feel like I know Van Gogh personally and realize that he died at my current age…I reflect on the art work that I created over the years, the styles and periods I went through, creating a little retrospective in my mind, and to my surprise I could fill up all of the walls here and more.

After spending the day at museums, I return home for a snack and head out with a camera. I no longer have an urge to document Amsterdam or any of its sites. I enjoy the freedom of walking with no backpack. Now as the time is getting close to sunset, I wonder the streets with the Canon camera strap hanging over my neck, many layers of thin shirts on, my green jacket with the large and cool looking collar, and a feeling of being an artist again. As I look into the canal I see the reflections of the canal houses dancing, shifting shape and form. Am I seeing the canal houses, the water or a new reality of the houses?

It is like the Big Sur Ocean that I viewed every day at Esalen. Once it was completely crisp, dark and rich blue, with clear definitions, another time it was dark grey and misty with strong waves and lots of movement. Still again it appeared calm with a greener tone, lighter and by night of course it appeared more like a black canvas, like a mirror offering the reflection of the moon or a star, mostly Venus. At sunrise or in the summer it was like a new Ocean all together. Was I changing or was it the ocean. Was it the same ocean, or was it just at the same place. Knowing that I was not changing glasses daily, I accepted that what I might think I know, what I can easily place in a box called the pacific, is relative and in flux, and day by day I delight in its new face.

At home I am happy to find the story of Amsterdam revealed to me in the abstractions of the shapes of homes and windows dancing on the canal waters as I captured them in my camera.

On my last day here I went to visit the Anna Frank House. A different kind of museum, a place where it is mostly my imagination and astonishment at human kind that makes the visit worthwhile. Really there is not much about the museum, but so much more of where my mind goes when triggered by human history. When standing in a seemingly normal room, a film of what happened in this very spot runs now in faded colors, with almost no sound through my imagination super imposed on the walls and space I stand in, merging times into one, knowing that these walls witnessed it all. Could this wall be the same for me as it were for Anna Frank? Do the walls care about the stories they hold? Do the floors notice the feet of the millions of tourists standing on the same wood that German soldiers did? I walk out to a drizzle, go home and pack my stuff. Catch a tram to the central station, on my way to Dublin.

Sacred Land

It’s a sunny winter day. Riding my bike along the gorgeous coastline of Big Sur. The light this time of year has a unique quality; great dark rocks rise from the ocean, super crisp against the deep blue ocean. Blue sky, soft streaks of clouds get cut off by a dramatic line of dissolving white fluff a silent commercial jet plane leaves behind.

As I lean into the curve on my Suzuki Katana 750, a wide wing bird takes a deep dive to its pray. I hear the sound of the waves crashing the cliffs mixed with the Katana’s engine as I twist the handle to accelerate coming out of the curve.

After buying some fuel at Big Sur at almost double the price of Monterey, yet still half the price of a gallon at Esalen, I head back and stop at the bakery for a cup of coffee and a croissant. On the wooden bench in front of a long natural curved wooden table lay the New York Times. I read it front to back leaving only the sports section out, getting a sense of the whole entire world, I contemplate the place I am now.

Air strikes fly over Gaza, while I look over the peaceful mountains of Big Sur. People consider this land sacred. Others consider the land in Jerusalem to be sacred.
Here it seems people tend to the land and try to preserve it as much as possible because it is sacred. In Israel (or Palestine) people shed blood, for it is sacred.

“It is the ancient Indians that made this place sacred” told me a friend a few days ago. I assume they decided it to be sacred for the richness of the land, for the hot springs, and streams, for the Great Ocean, and dramatic coastline. Then, is it the beauty, the abundance or the intention of the people that make the land sacred? In Israel it seems to be memory; history, which is part of the past, religions that relay on the past as part of its presence. A connection to people that lived on that land, people that had rituals, experiences, lives and deaths on that land.
Can any land be sacred? Can I create a magnificent garden with a huge dramatic rock in the center and call it sacred, a place for people to come and worship peace? This place will be sacred to all, to anyone that wishes to be there in peace.

It seems to me that when one place is declared as sacred, it assumes another is not. Sacredness creates duality, a sense of priority over another.
Do I take care of Big Sur better than I take care of NY? Just because NY might host more greed, or might have more concrete, do I spit my gum on the sidewalk?

What if we treated all land as sacred? Took care of everything we see with care and respect. By not choosing, not taking sides; can there be more harmony, more equal care and understanding. Can we accept differences without needing to change, to control or project our point of view?

It starts with me, here at this table, accepting the SUV’s arriving to fill up their tanks, greeting them with the same warm hello I great the Prius Drivers.
I shall keep riding my motorcycle for now, even as the weather is getting colder as my own act of freedom, my own little contribution to reducing consumption of oil.

I bundle up for the ride back, grateful for the hot natural spring baths that await me at the end of the ride.

Big Sur Fire

“We took your art, your hard drive…motorcycle, California is on fire!”, the message was cut off. Michael my roommate is telling me what he is saving of my stuff, his tone of voice excited, as the area where we live in is being evacuated.
I am in Boulder hearing about the raging fires through media and friends. Visualizing the power, beauty and destruction of this great force through info I read on a digital screen.
Thousand of acres are burnt, homes gone, people working hard to try and keep it tamed. Helicopters, engines, human force and water team up. Fire, as part of nature does not seem to like to be told what to do, especially if the wind is on its side. It’s a cycle of nature, yet it feels different when it hits the area where one lives.

Esalen is now closed for visitors, and the road to it is blocked. Within this roadblock, Spirit Garden is hosting an art show of mine, which is still up (or maybe not?). Photos from Cuba with wooden frames and the (e)motion series printed on canvas, all yummy food for the fire.

Some weeks ago I was sitting with Jeremy, my friend at Esalen and we were talking about loosing all our possessions and how that would feel. I was visualizing a fire, and seeing that nothing is left. As real and good as my visual powers are, it is still very different than the real threat, of knowing that this could be it.
It’s a good reminder that things are exactly what they are - things. No more no less.

My heart goes to all those that are suffering in Big Sur, that are breathing the smoky air and helping calm down the fire. Blessings.