Dissolved in time

The Earth
N. Scott Momaday


Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon
the remembered earth, I believe. He ought to give himself up
to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from
as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon
it.

He ought to imagine that he touches it with his hands at
every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon
it. He ought to imagine the creatures there and all the faintest
motions of the wind. He ought to recollect the glare of noon and
all the colors of the dawn and dusk.

For we are held by more than the force of gravity to the earth.
It is the entity from which we are sprung, and that into which
we are dissolved in time. The blood of the whole human race
is invested in it. We are moored there, rooted as surely, as
deeply as are the ancient redwoods and bristlecones.

I was just over at the gallery this afternoon having a peek at Tiffanee Scorer's show "Dissolved in Time.". Its last day is tomorrow, so you ought to get over there if you can.

Tiffanee's work is really stunning. The show is a collection of landscapes, all of which are imaginary, all of which are characterized by big sky, still clouds and serene meadows. There is a stillness to the work that is haunting. These landscapes are both real and not real. They are places that exist within us, in the memories and desires we hold about place, in the longing we feel to be cradled in the arms of earth. They emerge from Tiffannee's own experience as a human being living on this earth; they are in fact the earth itself coming through the artist. And for me, an observer, they are an invitation to find connection with the planet that gives us life, from which we are sprung, and to which we will return, dissolved in time.

As you walk through this show you will come at the end to a beautifully illustrated version of the above poem, and upon reading it I was struck by how well Tiff had caught the sentiment in the work. Her paintings are still life invitations to remember who we are and where we come from and they are also invitations to remember what comes from us, and to remember how deeply rooted we are to the earth and how deeply rooted it is within us.

Thankful for this place

A quiet afternoon at Cape Roger Curtis. The only human sounds are the occasional boats going by and the rumble if the heavy aircraft departing for the afternoon Asia bound flights.

Back home

Fall is here. Soup at The Snug.

Low sky Snug Cove.

What to be proud of

Was thinking this morning of the debate on Bowen around the National Park. I often overhear disgruntled conversations where people say weird things about why the park is a bad idea. Today on the ferry it was "you know once you involve the Feds it is forever. What if BC joins Alaska?" What?

I have also heard people invoke my friend David Smith's defense of the old general store as the kind of activism that opposing the park seeks to become. But I was thinking that at the end of the day we have that gorgeous building to look at and say "we did that."

If we vote this park process away we won't have anything to point at. And if, God forbid, something profoundly negative happens to the Crown Lands will we look back on a no vote with pride?


"At one time we could have had a national park here on Bowen, but we put a stop to that!" Not a sentiment to be proud of in my books.

The full sun after a harvest moon.

Ad the haze building in as our weather thinks about changing.

View from the top of Mount Gardner looking down to our house and across to Vancouver