It's dark, dreary, blustery and raining today. And it's Christmas morning. My household is asleep. The wider world around me is mostly asleep. What are they dreaming of? Sugarplums? A vaccine? Normalcy (whatever that is!)?
Holidays bring out my pensive side. What does it mean to take part in these cultural affirmations of unexamined value? How does an individual and the larger culture (family, region, nation) find honest and beneficial modes of coexistence?
It's too much for my small brain. So I go, tied to the mast today, and experience what Nature and Culture have to offer. Before all the traditions crank up however, I'll lace up my boots and go down to the river with my sketchbook. Hopefully the wind won't blow it all away. Hopefully, the rain will be amused at my practice.
It should be amused. My small drama of registering moments of existence, pencil and brush in hand, is puny in the grand scheme. And maybe, there is no "grand scheme." There are only an infinite number of small schemes. Infinite as the stars in the night sky. Pick one. If you follow them all, you'll get nowhere.
Merry Christmas
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