restingmotion

Not Yet and Always

I had planned to drive to Atlanta Thursday afternoon for a quick overnight trip even though it meant I would skip class.  There has been an exhibit of new works by photographer Andrew Moore at Jackson Fine Art, and this past weekend had appeared to be my only window of opportunity as the exhibit closes this week.  Alas, its was not to be.  I decided not to go.  The snow and ice we had Thursday was not the reason, although I have no idea what the weather was like on the road to Atlanta, but the appearance of yet another ice storm confirmed the feasibility of my decision. 

My decision was more an admission of "not yet" than an indication of lack of interest.  I do admire the work of Mr. Moore, and would be interested in a future purchase.   I am willing, and interested, in travel merely for the sake of art and music. But I am not yet ready, and the logistics of the less than 48 hour trip filled me with more stress than the thought of the art.  It seems my period of settling in continues.

And so the weekend was spent running mundane, but necessary, errands around town.  In truth it was a rather pleasant activity.  Tikka went with me some of the time.  I had forgotten how enjoyable errand-running could be, if one so allowed.  Of course this may have primarily been because I had successfully avoided it for nearly a month, what with colds and ice-storms and snow.  In previous weeks I had simply decided that I could do without.  But as we all know, that state can only go on for so long.

The weekend ended with a concert,  a short concert of choral works, sung by the parish choir of the Church of the Ascension as part of the Friends of Music and the Arts program.  It was a rather ambitious program for an amateur choir, consisting of works by Duruflé and Poulenc, but despite a bit of struggle with some passages, it was overall, a lovely and moving concert.

The choir opened with Duruflé's Quatre Motels sur des themes Grégoriens, a work that always seems to me to capture some sense of spiritual presence and joy.  Upon hearing the opening notes of the Ubi Caritas, I simply felt any residual tension fall away from my shoulders and calm descend, and I was able to simply relax into the joy of the music. 

 

The Duruflé was a good opening for the music of Poulenc, which followed. The Quatre Petites Prières de Saint Francois d'Assise, for male voices, opened with such utter simplicity and stark beauty I could not help but be moved. The choir captured this beauty, and at a few points even captured that rascally sense of irreverence that is often woven into Poulenc's works, that sense of reaching for the holy but of always being somewhat constrained by the irreverence of humanity.  It is subtle in this work, and sometimes overlooked, but I was thrilled to hear a hint in this performance, whether accidental or intentional.  As I sat and listened, I could hear George singing softly next to me, as he once would have done, as he loved Poulenc, loved choral works for male voices, and would often sing under his breath during concerts.  He had a lovely deep bass voice, and as I heard him singing, I was filled with that sense, not a bad sense in any way, of how those we love are always with us, a part of our basic makeup, always there when we need them, to remind us of some sense of ourselves, our personal saints in a sense.

The concert ended with Poulenc's Mass in G Major, a work where the fault lines between the divine and the human are far more apparent.  This work, with its abrupt shifts in meter, its complex polytonality that verges on atonality, seems to capture a sense of an overwhelming straining and yearning for the divine, a state that cannot be maintained in its awe-inspiring beauty (and terror). In this work the difficulties of the text were more apparent, but there were moments when the sopranos achieved that ethereal angelic beauty that Poulenc was aiming for in this piece, angelic beauty offset by the disruption and dissonance of human life. What Poulenc captures in this music, and what the choir managed to highlight was this sense of fragility of life and of faith; that in the midst of life there is death, dissonance, and disruption, and yet that apparently fragile thread of faith remains constant and strong.

Simply beautiful.

 

Andrew Moore, Zydeco Zinger, 2014, photo taken from here.

Andrew Moore, Beaver Dam Lake 1, Tunica Mississippi, 2014, photo taken from here.

Books Read January and February 2015

I was up a little late last night at an excellent chamber music concert at the Knoxville Museum of Art, and so am a little pressed for time this morning.  This works well because I have finished very few books so far this year.  In fact there are more books that I have read once and want to go back to for one reason or another than there are books in the "completed" pile. 

 

Most of them are fairly light reading

 

1. Scott Turow, Identical. OK.  Not Turow's best.  I kept getting a sense the author was trying for some overarching statement about twins that he wasn't quite able to pull off.

 

2. Jacques Vandroux, Heart Collector.  A Kindle First choice.  Fast paced and entertaining enough, but a little to fantastical for my taste.  It somehow bothered me that French Detectives spoke as if they were characters in a spaghetti western.  Perhaps that is a trend. 

 

3. M.L. Stedman, The Light Between Oceans.  I enjoyed reading this.  The were a few beautifully descriptive passages, and the struggles of the characters were moving and thought provoking, although often frustrating as well.

 

4. Teri Agins, Hijacking the Runway. Well written and easy to read.  I found it less satisfying than her previous book, but that may be that I am less interested in the subject matter.

 

5. Simon Wood, The One that Got Away.  Another Kindle First.  A fast read.  I think it is a pretty good portrayal of a character suffering from PTSD.  Some of the other characters needed work.

 

6. D. M. Pulley, The Dead Key.  Kindle First.  Flowery prose.  Unbelievable characters.  Some good sections.

 

7. Daniel Kehlmann, F: A novel. This was the best book of the batch, and considering how long it has stayed with me, and how often I have dipped back into it, I would say it is brilliant, although it is not a novel for the general reader.  It is not a book for a reader who wants a traditional story line, but if you are willing to engage with the book it is grippingly thought-provoking.  F is a novel about Arthur Friedland and his three sons.  Arthur is a Failed writer who takes his sons to see a hypnotist, after which he abandons his Family to pursue his craft.  The story resumes many years later when the sons are grown and Arthur has achieved Fame.  The eldest son, Martin has become a priest (Faith) although he is a Fake as he does not believe in God.  Eric is in Finance and also Fraud.  Ivan is an artist, but also a Forger. Family, Fathers, Fame, Faith, Fakery, Fraud, Forgery, Fear.  These are the subjects of this book and it is in many ways a very astute and unsettling study of modern life, especially the fear that each of these characters struggles with: the fear of being found out, the fear of not being good enough, the fear that they are each and every one a fraud, not in the external worldly sense, in which they most certainly are frauds, but deep in their inner selves. And so each character builds a life that is a Façade designed to hide their Fear that the world will discover the emptiness they each feel. 

 

 

Two Sweaters

It has been rather shocking to me how quickly my focus and attention has faltered after a few short weeks where I did not maintain my early morning ritual quiet/contemplative/writing time.  Of course other things were going on as well, and I knew February would be a difficult month, schedule-wise, but even so, I am reminded of the importance of taking time to center oneself as a first priority, rather than as an afterthought.

 

On the other hand, only a couple of short days of refocusing has brought a great deal of clarity to my thoughts again today (although I could not have said the same yesterday).  And I am relieved at the benefits of  practice, and of building some sort of "muscle memory" be it for physical or mental activities.

 

I am also thrilled at the calming effects on my disposition that have arisen out of this last round of sorting, which I mentioned last week.  Perhaps I should be somewhat reluctant to admit that it has taken me three rounds of sorting to take control of my closet, but in this case it is true that "three's a charm".  I also knew that I brought too much from New York, that I accumulated too much in New York, and that I was incapable, at that time, of making any kind of decision about personal effects.  This is not surprising, as I wrote extensively about the process of George's decline, about feeling like I had lost a major portion of myself in the process, and the continued sense of rediscovery that I needed to undergo before being fully able to move forward.

 

What I can report is that the third round was the easiest one.  The scutt work had been done.  There was nothing left that didn't fit, that wasn't flattering, that wasn't useful.  But fit and flattery aren't everything. Although I realized long ago that although I would feel no great sense of loss if everything I owned disappeared tomorrow, I also needed to reconnect to a feeling that I have held since childhood, a sense that everything I own or use must also spark sense of joy or happiness in and of itself and its relationship with me and how I interact with it. Once the decision was made that I would only save those things I truly love, it was easy to let go of everything that remained in my closet out of a sense of expectation or obligation or just a plain old guilt.  Decisions were easy.

 

Take these two sweaters:

As you can see, they are very similar. The sweater on the left was purchased in 2010 from Pure Collection, and is 100% cashmere.  The one on the right was purchased from Eric Bombard in either the late fall of 2011 or early winter of 2012, right after I moved to Knoxville, and is a cashmere and silk blend.  I do not recall if I knew it was this close in color to a sweater I already owned when I purchased it.  I may not have, as I was either living in a hotel, or had not yet unpacked everything at the time.  I do believe I was thinking that the cashmere/silk blend might be lighter and more wearable than the pure cashmere, and the winter of 2011/2012 was very warm in Knoxville.

 

Until this past weekend, I couldn't let go of either, even though I wasn't really wearing both of them.

 

So which sweater stays and which one goes? 

 

As you can see from the photo above, they are about the same size.  The Pure Collection sweater (bottom) has slightly more room at the bust (which I need) and is fuller through the sleeves (which I also like) although I wish it were narrower at the cuffs, like the sweater from Eric Bompard, as I have small wrists and really like sweaters to fit closely at the wrist.  Otherwise, the sweaters are the same at the shoulders, waist, hips, and are the same length.  I like the v-neckline better than the scoop, but I prefer the soft fuzziness of the Pure Collection sweater to the harder finish on the Eric Bombard.  And the sweater from Eric Bombard pills badly whereas the one from Pure Collection has never pilled, even though it gets more wear.

 

Have you figured it out?  I kept the sweater from Pure.  100% cashmere is easier to wear than the cashmere/silk blend, which I find is often too hot, even though the sweater is slightly thinner in gauge.  I also like the extra softness, and the ease at the bust and upper arms of the Pure Collection sweater.  I am not however, disparaging Eric Bombard as I have other sweaters from this company which I love, and which have remained in my wardrobe.  Only this particular sweater will be moving to a new home after a brief stint on eBay.

 

I only sorted through tops/blouses/jackets/sweaters in this round so there is still more to do.  Bottoms are next, but not until after I pull my taxes together.  But even this has made a tremendous difference.  When the only things that are in my closet are things I love, getting dressed is a joy.  Nothing is lost in the crowd.  I am actually looking forward to the next round.