• Forms of Art

    Wednesday, September 16, 2009

    Sometimes I unexpectedly stumble across a book that swiftly lulls me into the beauty of words. I had found this book on the used rack at a tiny bookstore in my parent’s small town. The story of the book is interesting enough, a single women who braves and calls the deep northern Canadian mountains her home. Isolated from the world, living alone, with nature her only companion. The real treasure of the story is her way of bringing her words forward as art, painting a picture, vivid and real. I highly recommend her book, I hope these lines of her pen will lull you as it has me.

    How can any one who revels in the beauties of nature fail to leap out of bed at the first ring of the varied thrush while the blue dawn creeps into the world? What greater joy can there be than to watch the transition from shadow to sunlight, when dew trembles in the windless hush? Who can bear to miss the freshness of a golden morning, that fleeting light that fades so quickly as the day becomes worn and tarnished?

    Chris Czajkowski


    There is something very precious about a still day high in the mountains. There is a barely discernible hum, perhaps merely the murmurings of distant wind and water, but I like to think of it as the sounds of the earth turning:

    And Holy silence burst the ears:
    Hush! The music of the spheres.

    Chris Czajkowski

    Speaking of art. I have been reading a lot about Claude Monet to Marion. Pre-paring her for the art we are about to experience in France. This week I asked her to paint as the impressionists do, she choose the sun set.

    Simply wonderful!