Walking in the Mist

Last night we went on a late walk with the pups. 

It was about 8 degrees so despite the photos- not snowing.

There was so much moisture in the air that under photo flash it showed as an other-worldly mist.

Stephen King wrote a short story "The Mist" . It tells the tale of a hapless town set upon by a mist cloaking over-sized -and rather hungry for human flesh-  arachnids.  Despite my poor precis is it worth a visit.

The power of the written word! I read this in 1984, and I still stepped a little cautiously through the unseen last night.

Flying and walking

"He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying."

Friedrich Nietzsche

Discovery

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

Marcel Proust, French novelist 1871- 1922

A visit to Gooseneck Pottery

This long weekend is the Kiln Opening and Winter Exhibition for my friend and artist Rob Barron at Gooseneck Pottery.

Rob's work is hand-thrown and wood fired stoneware.

The highlight for me are the glazes he manages to create. Like sap dripping down a tree trunk, or gold flecks caught in the rim of a pan. My favourite effect looks like lava caking on the side of the pot which Rob explained was 'slag'.

Pottery for me is an organic primeval art form. The firing of a kiln for several days, subjecting the clay forms to temperatures of 1,100 °C to 1,300 °C while teasing effects by loading the kiln with wood is beyond my tiny mind.

On offer are pieces as humble as the herb pot, coffee mug, or dinner plate through to epic works by a master craftsman. I have had my eye on the boats (pictured top left) and one day they will sail on into the back of my car. Those looking for a water feature could do no better than Rob's standing columns (left in right of shot).

Nestled in this hills of Kardella Gooseneck Pottery is definitely worth a visit.

The author and Rob, sharing hair to create 'Donald Trump' effect

I defy you to walk away empty handed!

 Gooseneck Pottery
60 Kardella Road, Kardella
Victoria 3951
Call to check opening hours
03) 5655 2405

Nina who is working and studying with Rob

Dragon Tree

The Quality of Light

Quarante

Last night was a wee gathering to celebrate my acsendancy to 'quarante' (I have decided it sounds better in french), staying at the lovely Art Series Hotel- The Blackman.

Hanging gems in a concrete city

Homes of Weaver Birds

Denver Zoo, Colorado

Small arcade in the city

 "All architecture is shelter, all great architecture is the design of space that contains, cuddles, exalts, or stimulates the persons in that space. "

Philip Johnson

Lake after rain

Maroondah Reservoir

Cape Conran

 

There is possibly nothing better for me
than a walk
down the beach just before the sun sets.

Longing for the higher altitudes

Because I am longing for the mountains I go to Rene Daumal for this week's inspiration.

There is one degree of separation between Rene and myself, he died on the same day I was born, 28 years before. He was a writer and poet, and I think in this short passage gives the best explanation of why someone might go through such discomfort to climb a mountain.

"You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again.
So why bother in the first place?
Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees.
One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen.
There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see, one can at least still know."

Rene Daumal, March 1908 - May 1944

Climbing Kalapatar (5545m), view of Everest Base Camp middle left, 

with Khumbu Icefall snaking to the right

Climate watch

SH 131, Colorado USA

I have always been fascinated by the weather.

As a child, like all my age, I was bored silly by the news but then the weather would come on and I would sit up studying the synoptic chart trying to understand how this would affect my part of the world. How close were the isobars to one another? How did land masses affect the front? And the biggest question- would we get a storm tomorrow?

Storms are incredibly exciting events for me. Not the petrifying extreme events- who enjoys those?- more the sorts that produce incredible cloud formations, lightning, fast changes in temperature that come and go in a manner of hours. The sorts of storms where you can stand outside and be immersed without fear for personal safety.

When I was working in the mountains I would notice when the barometric pressure was dropping rapidly. I would feel the pressure change in my bones particularly in my knees. Madness I know but I knew a lot of snow was coming.

Sorry fair weather skiers, but being on skis on a snow day is the best place to be in the world. Low visibility, snow falling dreamily past your eye line, no noise. Mother nature's padded room!

These days the storms I am witness to are not quite so white, more grey. But lovely none the less. Next time there is a storm, get outside, stand in it, feel the energy in the air and let it invigorate you.

Heide Museum of Modern Art - Cooks Garden

Rain then sunshine illuminate

a miniature alien world.

Self Importance- curse of the Western world

Nepal, Sagamartha National Park, on way back from Kalapatar III

I discovered the writing of Matthieu Ricard, (Buddhist monk, photographer, and author) while in Nepal in a small book store in Kathmandu. I understand he has lived and worked in the Himalayan region for forty years.

"By Breaking down our sense of self importance,
all we lose is a parasite that has long infected our minds.
What we gain is freedom, openness of mind, spontaneity,
simplicity, altruism: all qualities inherent in happiness."

Matthieu Ricard France 1946-

Walking on a hot day

Tollers tend to approach tasks with less gusto when it is hot. Their usual work ethic slowly slips to indifference.

Today we walked for 3 hrs starting at 8am in the cool of the morning, along the Diamond Creek Trail to Edendale Farm at Eltham and back.

Smudge is unsually frightened of bike bells. Apparently shot guns, lightening and fireworks are fantastic exciting things that one must get as close to as dogerly possible. But bike bells...terrifying!

Hence walking any trail like this one that is shared by cyclists and walkers is reason to stick one's tail between one's leg and look about as if a full onslaught might be forthcoming from any direction. One must be vigilant.

We also came across a running club doing interval training along the trail. Very impressive long distance runners clearly preparing for an upcoming race.

We did not break any land speed records and by the time we reached the farm a rest under a Peppercorn tree was in order.

Then once home a swim and retrieving a few sticks was
acceptable. The river's banks have been eroded by the severe flooding in Feb 2011 and Christmas Day 2011 so it is quite a muddy swim, but no less satisying for the Toller two.

Hosier Lane kitchen steam

Coming out of Federation Square after seeing the Eugene Van Guerard exhibition I noticed the smoke coming from the kitchen vents on Hosier Lane, attracting a number of happy snappers. I waited for a few minutes to get a shot clear of people.

Escape from the heat

It is 34 degrees and the mercury will probably creep a little higher before the heat starts to leak out of the day for the cool of night.

Aspen, Snowmass Feb 2011

So naturally I think of the many beautiful winters I have spent in the mountains.

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens 1879-1955