This is quite the place. Sandwiched between two lakes – each offering a unique incarnation of spirit in wind, water, earth and (camp)fire, and in people too, and in their prayers – the present pattering of rain is a welcome aid to my internal meanderings of soul. I’m trying to take in the iridescence of it all: these days of sunlit listening. I’m finding here precisely those tangible ingredients I’ve been seeking: site-specific art materials with which to make manifest the festive conceptual gardening that I’ve been dreaming about of late. I’ve also discovered the intangible grace of lakeside reeds, bending in the wind, not as any relinquishing of their freedom but as a playful relishing in their own rootedness.
Among the methodologies I’m tempted to adopt here, Goldsworthy resonates, of course. But there are other approaches, other perspectives to mingle in this ecosystem of ideas. How might I, for example, honestly integrate the minor oil slick on the beach? Or how might I recognize the place of projected patterns of leaves, filtered through tarp texture? Whether in relation to elephants or to leeches, the Bible rightly calls for stewardship. If I cultivate and encourage that sort of growth, I will have only to wait for further ripening and fruit.