P52 Week 12 - Centered Composition

The P52 photography assignment this week is to show a photo that makes use of a centered (in the picture) subject. “I won’t be disappointed if you don’t want to continue this project,” my daughter wrote when she forwarded this week’s subject. “It’s great for photos…but not so much for writing,” she continued.
 
Actually my Centered Composition came rather easily this week. I had the privilege and pleasure of experiencing Zakir Hussain in concert. He is a master tabla player: Indian drums that are a little like bongos. Zakir is a centered subject in every sense of the word. He is not only a most spiritually centered musician, he also happened to be sitting dead center of the stage during the performance. He therefore fits the bill for this week’s prompt in more than the photographic sense.
 
Why did I decide to go see Zakir Hussein? My dear friend Kathleen had heard Zakir perform at Seattle WOMAD some years ago and had the pleasure of meeting him and experiencing his warm presence. When she invited me to the concert, I Googled him. He has had accolades galore – multiple Grammies not withstanding – and he has performed with artists as diverse as George Harrison, Yo Yo Ma, Van Morrison and the Kodo drummers. I also Youtubed him. He was clearly an amazing drummer and, even on the video, I could feel his joy radiating out from the screen. He was irresistible. I had to go experience him in person.
 
Zakir Hussain brought his Pulse on the World: Celtic Connections tour to the venerable Moore Theatre in downtown Seattle. He sat cross-legged on the stage surrounded by eight other talented musicians. On either side of him on the riser were Indian compatriots, a brilliant flute player to his left and an equally brilliant Indian fiddle player and singer to his right. Below the dais on his left were two Celtic violin players and an English bodhran drum player. On his right were a Scottish flute and pipe player, a French (from the Celtic region of Brittany) flute player and an Irish guitar player. Nine musicians in all, every one of them amazingly accomplished.
 
And Zakir was the one that brought them all together. What a master, to be able to bridge music genres and to connect musicians from all over the world! He brought out the similarities in music from different countries – not only in tones and rhythms, but in the ancient stories that inspired songs. Zakir introduced one of the ancient Celtic songs and talked about the connection between the Celtic story it told and those of Arjuna in the Mahabharata. The ancient song indeed sounded both Celtic and Indian at the same time – a true fusion. It was fascinating to experience.
 
Another haunting piece resembled Native American music – the bamboo flute riffs were so beautiful and reminded me of the Canyon Trilogy by R. Carlos Nakai. The fiddle sounds sliding up and down resembled Chinese and Japanese style music. The bagpipes lent a decidedly Scottish flavor but even that seemed part of a truly ecumenical blend.
 
Ah, but the true centerpiece was Zakir himself. His hands flew over the different tablas, his rhythms so precise and so in tune that I was amazed. I leaned forward in my seat to take in his performance. How did those different notes come out of the same drum? How did the different types of sounds come out of the same drum? How on earth did a main beat come out so clearly and precisely paced amidst a flurry of other notes? How the heck could he exactly repeat a complex melody that his flute friend had just played? Zakir’s hands flew over the drums so rapidly that only a whirr was visible – and he had the amusing audacity in the midst of his drumming to take out his hammer and tune his tabla without missing a beat in his flow.
 
And all the while he had a look of pure joy, his curly hair bouncing and framing his face like a halo. He grinned at his fellow musicians inviting them into his delicious musical feast.
 
I thought to myself, how is such talent in a human possible? Zakir is at the leading edge of what man is capable of: creative talent coupled with a spiritual depth that enhances his talent; and his ability to co-create with other musicians, not just in his genre, but spanning the world. Zakir is truly a world and a spiritual ambassador for our human race. I feel honored to have been in his presence and to do my small part in co-creating this musical event with my participation.

P52 Week 11 - Negative Space

The photography prompt for this week’s Project 52 defines negative space as the space surrounding the subject in a photo.

Here’s the space around me. I’m sitting on my queen size bed and on it is my treasured Aussie mohair Oncaparinga blanket that I’ve had for over fifty years. It was a gift from my parents when I was a teenager and was carted all the way from down under to the U.S. The blanket is now threadbare, but still warms me on cold nights and keeps me cool enough on the rare hot Seattle summer days. Mohair is amazing! I have a Martha Stewart bed-in-a-bag bedspread, shams, decorative pillows and drapes. I am ‘matchy-matchy’ as my daughter often teases me. I guess the younger generation isn’t into that all-of-a-kind fashion these days. I look to ways of finding matching sets to make up for the decorative talent that I lack.

My bedroom furniture is Ethan Allen – bought thirty years ago – about the only furniture I took when I left my first marriage. It took me a long time to find this set and I have enjoyed it for years, but I’m now getting tired of looking at it and the drawers are sticking and sagging when I open them. Turns out the craftsmanship touted by the venerable company just isn’t there.

On my dresser I have pictures of my family: my daughter on one side, my son and his wife on the other and my granddaughter in the center – and she, of course, is the centerpiece in our lives. I also have an ornate china lidded vessel – Herend porcelain – a gift from my mother a few years before she passed away. When she married my father she had her china custom made by the famed Hungarian porcelain manufacturer. For her, such fine china was a symbol of status and elegance, and so I have a little of that in my bedroom. Next to it is a small jewelry box. Taped to the top of it is an abstract picture drawn by my daughter when she was only a few years old. I have always loved the intricate patterns she created and have thought them quite precocious for her age. As I pull out and put on my earring studs every morning, I love to gaze at her artwork, a touching touchstone to my daily routine.

Behind my bed I have a Georgia O’Keefe print, purchased when I toured her museum in Santa Fe some years ago. I got to go through her studio and was impressed with how organized she was cataloguing her colors – hundreds of shades stacked by hue – and how she kept scores of paint brushes immaculately clean and stored according to size. Her genius was uncluttered – enviable!

Also on my walls I have pictures my daughter, Stephanie has taken: a calendar she creates every year: this one features recent trips we have taken together to Crater Lake and to Mt. Rainier. I have the joy of gazing on a new amazing photo every month. I also have a shot of me with my granddaughter that Steph took in Hawaii that greets me as I walk in the room. Her photos of frangipani and hibiscus also adorn the walls, reminding me of my beloved tropical sacred space.

I love the view outside my window: the green space in the center of the cul-de-sac, the surrounding town houses that line the street, the silhouette of the Cascade Mountains against the sky; the glistening waters of Lake Washington that peak out between the trees and buildings. And, as part of my view, I have a special gift: on clear mornings I get a glimpse of the side of Mt. Rainier – a sliver of Little Tahoma as the easterly small peak is named.

I knew this townhouse was the place for me when I went about looking for a new location eight years ago. As I sit in my bedroom, gazing about my ‘negative space,’ I am happy and I know that I have chosen well. I am glad that I listened to my heart, my intuition, my gut. I am glad I paid attention, and I am grateful to be here.

P52 Week 10 - Photographer's Choice

OK this week’s Project 52 title is ‘photographer’s choice’ and I must go with the literal heading. I could riff off of it and shift it to “writer’s choice” but I don’t want to go there. First off, apologies to my daughter – you did not receive your photographic talent from your mother.

OK, so here’s a 2007 selfie (had the term even been coined back then?) taken on a trip to Sydney for my 40^th high school reunion. The backdrop of course is the brilliant landmark of the Sydney Opera House.

The look on my face tells a lot as to how I was feeling on that trip.

The feint smile speaks to my pleasure in seeing childhood haunts: Loreto Kirribilli, the convent school I attended in grade and high school; North Sydney and Wollstonecraft, the neighborhoods where I lived; Queenscliff, the beach at the northern end of Manly where my family spent many a weekend summer’s day; the stately Harbour Bridge that I crossed by train several times each week to take ballet and violin lessons. The smiley wrinkles around my eyes speak to the fun I had reconnecting with classmates and friends, all of whom welcomed me so graciously!

The puzzled look in the droop of my eyelids reflects my feeling a little like a duck out of water. This was only my second trip back to Australia in decades and the city had, of course, changed immeasurably in the interim. When I left Sydney in 1966, the Sydney Opera House was still under construction for heaven’s sake!

The setting of the city – the man made setting – had completely transformed. My house in Wollstonecraft had been razed and replaced by unsightly apartments. The only part of my school that I recognized was the chapel building with its lovely tower. The inner city, except for the street names – Martin Place, George Street, Pitt Street – felt completely foreign with its clusters of modern skyscrapers.

The inherent beauty of the landscape, though, had not changed. All of the natural splendors still amazed me: the gorgeous harbor, the ocean cliffs of the Gap, the stunning golden beaches, the laughing calls of the Kookaburras and the sprays of tropical flowers - bougainvillea, hibiscus and bottlebrush. Returning to the beauty of my childhood locale brought back not only memories but also physical sensations. My body cells glowed, hummed and resonated with recognition. It seemed as if a construction crew was busily repairing and upgrading the pieces of my childhood stored in my anatomy. I was being healed.

The raised eyebrows in my selfie convey a sort of disbelief. As I experienced the city of my youth – its cosmopolitan flavor and its economic complexity – I had a distinct sense that Sydney had outpaced me. My friends asked if I would consider moving back and I didn’t feel drawn to do that, but I also realized that I didn’t have the economic foundation to do so. I simply couldn’t afford to live in Sydney and that was a rather sobering realization.

My self-portrait shows a perplexed, complex and puzzled sort of expression. I relate that to the jumbled clutter of memories, feelings and body sensations that I have stored growing up in Australia. One of the ways I have begun to untangle and integrate this hodgepodge has been by writing a memoir, of which a substantial part takes place in Australia.  I have been working on the manuscript for the past five years and have pondered writing my story for a lot longer than that. I embarked on this project for a lot of reasons: to delve into the mystery that is I; to explain to my children where I have come from and why I am the way I am. And there has been an inexplicable draw to get my story out there, a draw that has me by the pant cuff, won’t let me go and keeps dragging me towards completing the work and getting it published.

‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ How true! Even an artless selfie can tell a story.

P52 Week 9 - Alternate Light

I am drawn to the ‘alternative light’ of the moon.

Years ago, my then husband and I dined at friends who owned a house on Lake Sammamish. We sat out on their deck overlooking the water on a balmy summer’s eve, enjoying pleasant company and a delicious barbeque meal. As we were savoring our desserts – delectable homemade blackberry tarts – the moon, huge and glowing, magically appeared over the eastern rise and gradually spilled its light onto the stilled lake waters. I couldn’t help but gasp at its mystic beauty. Our host beamed – his voice trembling a little with awe. “The moon’s appearance was ordered especially for you. It’s part of the evening’s entertainment.”

Some months later, when my marriage had soured and I had moved out to gain some distance and have time to reflect, I spent many gut wrenching hours alone. One moonlit night I found myself out in the back yard of my rental house wailing like a wolf – softly, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear – and I began to sing. I sang Brother Sun, Sister Moon, written by Donovan for the movie of the same name. It was my prayer to the moon goddess, asking for consolation, begging for respite from my grief and my rage. 

Brother Sun and Sister Moon
I seldom see you, seldom hear your tune
Preoccupied with selfish misery

Brother Wind and Sister Air
Open my eyes to visions pure and fair
That I may see the glory around me.

I am God's creature, of Him I am part
I feel His love awakening my heart.

Brother Sun and Sister Moon
I now do see you, I can hear your tune
So much in love with all that I survey.

After some time, I did feel a sort of consolation begin to seep into me. As if affirming what I was sensing, the moon winked at me from behind a cloud. I broke out sobbing, but these tears were of understanding and filled with gratitude and love. My racing heart soon settled into a smooth rhythm and my body thrummed with a calm knowing.

Now, decades later, when the often-cloudy Seattle skies clear up and the moon is visible, I am sometimes moved to seek out its pearly watery reflection. I chase the moon around the Western shores of Lake Washington, looking for the perfect spot to park and gaze across the watery expanse. There is nothing like moonlight on still waters. The light fills and warms my heart and I smile.

At home, I open my blinds and allow the moon’s glow to envelop me. When life is stressful and I feel uptight, Sister Moon again consoles me. My heart settles into a smooth rhythm and my body thrums with a calm knowing.