This afternoon turned out nice weather-wise, if one doesn't mind temperatures in the low 20s. I went back to the mountain at Sheep Hill again, and made two 9x12 charcoal drawings. It was sunny, but the fingers holding the pad became numb.
I've been reading the poems of Han-Shan about Cold Mountain. I learned about Han-Shan from the first "Squarings" poem in the book "Seeing Things" by Seamus Heany. Cold Mountain is more a state of mind than a place. Here's one translated by Gary Snyder:
Once at Cold Mountain, troubles cease--
No more tangled, hung-up mind.
I idly scribble poems on the rock cliff,
Taking whatever comes, like a drifting boat.
No comments:
Post a Comment