The National Gallery of Scotland has a temporary exhibition of Stanley Cursiter’s artwork going on at the moment. Cursiter was both an artist and keeper (which I understand to be like a curator), later director, of the National Gallery of Scotland. The exhibition, in one of the side rooms to the main hall, is filled with a selection of works throughout his career. Walking through the room, I was…
My first feelings outside this morning were of the chilly, refreshing autumn air; one for which I have been yearning for many days. I feel at home in cooler climates. In the grass, a rabbit hops slowly; other rabbits gather, too. A bird flies in front of me as I walk; many kinds of birds sing, heard by each other and the trees and me. In the song, I wonder. Do birds have their own community? Their…
(what if) home pages (were, are) ever-changing poems(?)
to feel the boundaries of the paper loneliness hopes blankness fullness peripheries texture colour; within its edges: frames of beginnings.
the forever flutters like a lantern, warming, present.
Wearing a distinguished red scarf, the fluffy librarian sits atop a shelf of books. Of the stacks and stacks of stories and tales resting beneath, he knows all. Edgar is a quiet, soft fellow — content contemplating closer to the clouds. He could recite any poem from Dickinson — or paint a portrait of the quietest, fullest Japanese coffee shop. Instead, he sits patiently, waiting for the moment…
While walking earlier today, I noticed a few tall trees in the distance were starting to turn yellow. One tree in particular stands out to me; one changing faster than others, adding a new hue to the once all-green canopy of trees. I look around and start to notice the first signs of yellowing on other trees, too – the ends of branches tinted with the colour of the next season; leaf-shaped…
I was just in time to catch the moment when the sun started to recede behind the hills in the distance, a moment in which two birds flew together and danced into the night, in which there were the last flickers of the golden glow of Evening thinking through the window, in which I looked to see the colours of the rest of the sky and, when looking back, realise the sun has now set; its brilliant…
Ever since I published “Blogs, websites, and identity”, I have been thinking about and discussing some of the questions I raised in the blog post: why do we take photos, what does it mean to write on the web. The essay feels like a starting point: a framing from which to work, a point of reference, a repository of questions. In the essay, I wrote: But I can’t shake my question: what does it mean…
first breaths, outdoors: in, out. calm.
Is this what “afterglow” means? The question came to me as I looked up at the sky twenty minutes or so after sunset. There is a faint orange colour on the horizon where the sun was. The colour grows paler away from the hills; the sky is now mostly blue, the top of the sky darkening while the horizon is slightly white, painted with lines of light and lightdark grey clouds; two dark clouds appear to…
On my desk there is a painting of Monet’s “Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies” 1 that I purchased when I was on holiday last year. I wanted to bring something back that I could put in my living space, something that would both be a memory of the trip but also a work of art in itself to be enjoyed. Every time I go to my desk, the painting is there: a reminder of one of my favourite artists. I…
Is it possible to be in awe and have no idea to what extent until you look back? I think this is what I feel now, looking back on the solar eclipse that happened an hour and a half ago or so. “Isn’t it amazing that this happens?”, I said to everyone who joined this evening’s Homebrew Website Club Europe meetup online, whose start coincided with the solar eclipse. I didn't have solar eclipse…
The fourteenth episode of Wonders of Web Weaving is out: In Episode 14, I chat with Robb, the author of rknight.me about, among other things, metaphors for websites, the importance of sharing things you like on the web, running an indie service (Echo Feed), and more. I hope you enjoy the episode! Wonders of Web Weaving also has an RSS feed you can use to follow along from wherever you get your…
“What would this painting by Titian have looked like four hundred years ago?” I always find myself asking myself new questions – and noticing details I have never appreciated before – when I visit galleries. Some of this comes with my studies. I saw a portrait in the entrance of the National Gallery of Scotland today that I started to study using some of the symbols I learned to look out for…
As I approached the top of one of the many long staircases from Cockburn Street to the Royal Mile, I felt an electricity in the air. The street was full; shows happening everywhere as part of the Edinburgh Fringe festival. People were handing out fliers to fill crowds. I always love seeing how people invite you to a show. Some hand out fliers kindly. Others stand on street corners. The person I…
how the poem slows time — of day and night. how the poem flows words — all in sight. how the poem shows mirrors — reflections of light. how the poem knows conditions — ours alike.
When I look at a painting, or read a poem, or a story, I feel like I am entering a new world, one created by the artist, the writer, to evoke a particular feeling, to highlight something meaningful, to document a moment, and for many other reasons too. I love the feeling of building a world in my mind when I engage with a work of art: the scenery in a novel or a poem, for example, or of the images…
The horizon is painted with a cool, warm glow. The sun has not yet risen; the hills are its blanket. The sky is a clear blue. I woke up earlier than normal this morning. I find myself writing while gazing out the window, watching the sun rise, its light filling the room, illuminating the ideas of past days on my whiteboard, the titles of books I love, and the glass of water I poured earlier to…
Confident reflections of my reserved self. Colourful, frozen, fragmentary, ephemeral frames, I carry everywhere. Heavy as self.