I love waking up and seeing the view from my kitchen. The endless variety that the same picture conveys, changed by seasons and the vagaries of the English weather. Coastal winds transforming the seascape unfolding in front of me. The variances as the sun rises from a slightly different position each day, spraying deep orange and peach light that gradually lightens as the sun rises, turning our home into a constantly varying symphony of colour, replicating musician and artist Brian Eno’s light boxes, never the same, always different. Nature drenching its mood and perspective. Whilst studying for my doctorate I used to cycle most days between the south western English cities of Bristol and Bath, stopping at the same point and snapping a shot on either my phone or camera. A beautiful spot where the city was left behind and bucolic countryside emerged, fields, horses, a church spire rising out of the English village, creating balance in the view. I was entranced by the differences in similarity, the chance to look more deeply when you start to know every element in your picture. Sometimes the horse was there but other days not, or in a different location creating an alternative balance. Standing still and contemplating. Repetition providing the opportunity to stay in the moment, the place, the view. Not a set of holiday snaps which blindly take you around the pool, beach, lunch, church, beach, afternoon drinks, sunset, dinner, party. A beautiful view is to be savoured, unfurled through the ages, the chance to measure your life alongside the beauty of humans and nature. An opportunity to be static and contemplate change, to work out what it is all about. To stop rushing around, stand on one leg and breathe, the tree of yogic life. Zen gardens. Life is everything around us. Let’s be more observant, take time out, put the phones away and actually live, fighting the demands and distractions of the modern world. Recognise what is going on around us, the different dynamic of certain moments or days.
Why does the start of the week feel different to the end? Parts of the year have certain scents, views, feelings, which time stamp our development. Facebook reminding us about what was happening on the same day one, two, seven years or even eleven years ago. It all seems so recent. Present, in the now. Time has sped past, our lives juggernauting along at breakneck speed, unable to slow it down as caught in a merry-go-round, gliding up and down on a horse, repeated views blurring past from the bottom of the hill. Our lives have reportedly changed over the 58 years I have been present, but it all seems the same to me. The UK. The long hot summer of 1976, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, exciting pop music with punk screaming into view, strikes, extreme weather, long periods of drought followed by flooding, a warming globe, familiar places and faces. Not a static life spent in one location, from birth, school, work to marriage, children and death but a multifaceted one travelling the planet, moving from place to place, adventures that make life exciting and dynamic. London, Paris, Glasgow, Bristol with a swathe of smaller locales in between. Days which were dynamic, a cure for the humdrum, a world of creativity and chaos. Moving from cities to the countryside has provided boredom, the ability to stop and stare, think deeply, be at peace and start to wonder and wander, contemplate, remember, look forward. Internal conversations becoming clearer as the fog starts to drift away, lifting from the valley floor and revealing a beautiful landscape stretching into the distance, providing the first glimpses of clarity on life.
