"New Earth" 30x30, Oil on Gessobord
This is from an excerpt of my journal after reading Robert MacFarlane's The Old Ways:
Perhaps the fall caused a disengagement with the landscape, a tuning in that was once our way of hearing and knowing it only to be haunted by it's language, a murmur we can't quite make out.
MacFarlane says to not think of the landscape as something to re-engage or plug into as a technology but something that exists and you are separate from, the way it calls us, the way it speaks to us to BE itself and not us. It doesn't need us to know it. We are dust longing to know dust. We speak "bones," the language of all flesh. We are given the brain, heart, soul, there is something we lose in not engaging in sweat, foot, walk, hike, climb. We move about the typography of the landscape but its our very selves we discover. Silence. Beauty. It doesn't need us to speak beauty over it. It IS beauty. It thrusts up despite our protests that beauty is a man made discovery. In fact, it IS it's own self. Beauty is old, very old, and doesn't need us to name her. We need her.