Have you ever had the feeling that a certain place held so many memories, the walls were nearly trembling with secrets kept and stories untold? Places stand tall and still, watching silently as we fill up the pages and chapters in the stories of our lives.
The world is a construction--very real and tangible, but only a stage for the souls that traverse it. But these constructions are saturated with memory. The older the place, it seems the louder is the echo of these souls from lives that have passed this way before us. I'm not really talking about ghosts, but about the feeling that a place can remember--like our bodies, walls and earth and trees and air can hold the skin-memories of pleasures and pains past.
I think about the cracks and scars in paint, brick and mortar.
I imagine the the fist that pounded a door in anger;
the nose pressed against the window, longing for a blessed return;
Like lines on our foreheads, between and at the corner of our eyes,
the wear on these walls is evidence of lives lived in wonder and worry, laughter and tears.
The mess is beautiful to me--the patina of time. And I pray that sweet time will allow me also to appreciate the "patina" of my own body, as even at 30 I slowly begin to notice the aging, and to look upon the future as a gathering richness of memories old and yet to be made. For our stories mingle together and lives past live on in our own lives--in our hearts and all around us.
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Next week I have a fresh artist interview to write about, but today I wanted to share some of the photos I finally finished working on with all the delicious texture that I promised to share from our visit to Wismar, East Germany at the beginning of October. The peeling paint and crumbling brick captured me . . . I see lots of these as "backgrounds" for some stories told in mixed-media collage. Can you see the place where there should be a "face" in the photo above? Don't yet know how or what, but I'm thinking about a new collection of artwork!