Maybe we move forward through time, or possibly time flows over us, swirls around us or eddies behind us… maybe it’s any combination of those. Yet which ever, things change. We try to create a stasis of the familiar, our art embodies moments which we wish, not necessarily to become immortal, but to be at least reachable and understandable by others. The unknown becomes discovered; and then familiar; and then it gets pushed to the side, or fades to clear. This nostalgia for the known isn’t just about our familiar, it's paradigms that have held value, and possibly can continue to do so, it’s the idea of horizons being lost to humanity, maybe of us all being dragged down futures we should rather avoid. It’s change, and even though we change as well, we have the possibility of holding onto our selves, of growing, of not becoming whom we don’t wish to be, ...but time, it seems to be beyond any of us having any say in those changes.
Yesterday the green rural route mail-box disappeared from my landscape, a few years prior to that it was the rural route end of the drive way mail box on a pole with the raise-able redflag that had disappeared. Progress, more changes, and then, a magical blue bird appeared at the feeder in the evening , with shimmering iridescent shifting shades of blue green and navy, so many blues, just getting some chow from the feeder , an Indigo Bunting, hanging out for a bit. …changes can be good.
We may not know where we are heading, but we can look at it in nostalgia or in wonder. Choose wonder.
© GAMcCullough 2018