Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Such glorious natural beauty,
right in the heart of new york city.
Central Park- that verdant spot in the middle of manhattan, a veritable Life altogether. I had planned a brief visit to that pleasant garden respite with the intention of viewing Chriso's mind-blowing, once-in-a-lifetime exhibit, "The Gates" (so called because the yards and yards of mounted orange sails circling the park resembled a "portal" of sorts, capable of whisking one away from the grey winter landscape into a colored fairyland). The artist had spared none of his imagination, none of his creativity and none of his cloth! Those flapping orange sails, true to their name, graced each little trail, framed every single path in the park. And when the wind blew (spark upon spark!), Cloth turned Fluid and Park, all at once, filled with movement!
People came to walk the Park-- people from all over the city, from various parts of the country. Like me, they came to experience this, to make sense of non-sense. Tourists, families, artists, photographers (some with models, some without) , film crew (courtesty of Mr. Trump), all. Everyone wanted a part in the project. For that was what we were-- participants in the final visual presentation of an artist's realised vision.
Imagination sparks imagination. While my eyes were kept busy with novel sights, my mind too worked at its own private fantasies. I imagined dance, glimsped life in the swirling light fabric. I imagined the scene-change at night; while the surroundings darkened, the streetlights would play with the golden sheets and the night breeze would race through them at lightning speed, flapping each sail upwards in a wave spreading through the tree rows.
Movement and activity of the Present (the Now), however, quickly drew me back to the Day. Such beautiful weather-- probably the best in months. The sun was out, warming the air and blending its rich, glowing light into the palate.
I took a moment to pause. Took in the scenery from where I was. I saw and, for the first time in a long while, appreciated Beauty in all perceivable ways. There were winter hues, shades, colors and contrasts that I had failed to notice till then. Those orange sails were evidently the scene-stealers, the attention-grabbers. But I paused and noted how readily the man-made and the natural mixed and mingled. Solid color with nature's innumerable shades, light with dark, smooth with rough, bold with subtle, contrasts in texture and feel. Because I paused, I observed too, how beautifully the Master Artist had shaped and formed nature. There were natural contrasts all around! At the edges of the glassy pond, where water met ice, seeming to coexist in both states, on the bare branches of trees, where naked bark (virgin white) scraped against jaded, matured skin (in browns so deep they assumed appearance of black). I saw more contrasts and more beauty still in the pairing of rocky solid strength with soft, feminine fluidity.
Man draws inspiration (even in the drabbest of seasons) from nature. And if we could draw so much pleasure, if our spirits were so uplifted by a little touch of color, how much more joy (overflowing!) must Adam and Eve have experienced in their garden of eden-- paradise pure, heaven on earth! We have our Master Artist to thank. He made this world perfect and saw that it was good.
I may just have caught a glimpse of eden today
and like the Psalmist, I owe Him all my praise.
planted @
6:00 AM
