beautiful debris of time

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From BODY, SPACE, IMAGE: notes towards improvisation and performance:

YAWNING

LET THE SOFT PALATE OPEN UPWARDS

INTO THE DOME OF THE HEAD

LET THE YAWNS OPEN THE INTERIOR SPACES OF THE BODY

THE BREATH IS THE MEANS BY WHICH THE INSIDE OF THE BODY KNOWS THE OUTSIDE

LET THE AIR SUPPORT YOU LIKE WATER

LET THE BREATH TRAVEL DOWN

OPENING THE GATEWAYS

OF SHOULDERS

ELBOWS

WRISTS

KNEES

ANKLES

LET THE BREATH FILL YOU TO YOUR FULL SIZE

ON THE OUT BREATH

LET GO

OF TIREDNESS

PAIN

WAITING

LET THE BREATH GIVE THE BODY

T I M E

YAWNING    LENGTHENING   STRETCHING   FOLDING   ROLLING

EACH BREATH A DIFFERENT STORY

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Samuel Palmer, Self-portrait (?1828)

I love this painting because his distracted gaze appears vaguely defiant, resigned, lonely even. The sadness is quiet but simultaneously confrontational. It's fascinating and super-poignant. It's also interesting that it evokes similar feelings one might get from a Francis Bacon or a Jenny Saville portrait, as if Palmer's sensibilities were reborn in new forms of style and technique. I love art that is sad.

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My grandparents' celebrated their 60th anniversary today. When I'm 80, will I be surrounded with people I love, and who love me? How will my world look like through lenses tinted slightly rosier by cataracts and presbyopia, wisdom and experience, knowledge and heartache? I hate speaking in future tense.