migration

I looked more closely at the print on the wall of my housesit that’s been calling to me all week…it’s called “Migration” by Marianne Wieland, and reveals an ocean view through a ship’s portal.  A closer viewing revealed whales embossed in white around the circular window.  It love it, the way I love an airplane window’s tight framing of an expanse of sky:

“Migration” by Marianne Wieland. I can’t get rid of that stupid light streak in the ocean…but I hope this gives you a taste for the loveliness of this print. I went online to check out her work, but she’s not doing this kind of spare art anymore. She’s moved on, I guess.  More change.  Sigh.

I imagine a whale’s migration–slow and unhurried, with lots of breaks for plankton snacks and naps in quiet coves along the way.  If the whole world is in a state of flux, why do I long for permanence?  The shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates under our feet, the movements of clouds, stars, the fall colors spreading like a rash over the leaves…And can I begin to see this movement as a sign of life, a creative act more spectacular than any dance, symphony, or film?  Yes, I can–some of the time–but for right now, I’m ready for smaller, more gradual changes, barely perceptible ones like the quivering of an eye beneath closed eyelid, or a slow motion kiss.

My bags lie packed on the living room floor in preparation for loading into the car.  I’m moving into a new apartment today, but plan to start the day with an hour of knitting at the bench.  Before the computer gets packed, here’s a new post for you.

 

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