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Good writing is intoxicating, a glass of scotch in late August.
Shannon Presler is a Laphroaig 40 Year Reserve. I anticipate his prose and poetry, such as what he wrote yesterday. Sip away.
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Who has the wisdom to count the clouds? - God
This sentence burns deep in the middle of my little heart. Gerard M. Hopkins filled his diary with descriptions of clouds. The old, absurd poet who scribbled Job, broken and wiser than the other friends, has God come down in a whirlwind and ask these types of questions.
I can’t think of anything more severe and beautiful.
Clouds are too soon dying works of art - as unique as any mountain or continent.
Who has the wisdom to count these things? I try.
On my best days I slow down.
I watch the sky and see clouds bloom and disappear knowing that each has a name, and that rarely heard.
Birth and death slowly blowing over our own little births and our own little deaths.
Our little dancefloors, our little hospital rooms.
I guess clouds are icons. They are dramas of the crucified God. Slow beauty explosions that can’t last forever on our whirling earth. The winds are simply too strong and the world is such a dry place in need of rain.
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Personalized Calling Cards by Anna Bond of Rifle Paper Co.
Anna is a good friend and she does phenomenal work, the kind of work that when someone asks for my business card I hesitate to give it away for fear of running out. I highly recommend her to everyone that asks about illustration work or paper goods.
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Madeleine L’Engle, 1988
“We don’t have any pat answers. The church is still pre-Copernican in its attitude toward death. The medieval picture of heaven and hell hasn’t been replaced with anything more realistic, or more loving. Perhaps for those who are convinced that only Christians of their own way of thinking are saved and will go to heaven, the old ideas are still adequate. But for most of us, who see a God of a much wider and greater love than that of the tribal God who only cares for his own little group, more is needed. And that more is a leap of faith, an assurance that that which has been created with love is not going to be abandoned. Love does not create then annihilate.”
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In life, you’re given three options (how generous of life):
1. Never write down a single word
2. Write things down, see goodness
3. Write things down, feel shame
These options are not exclusive to each other.
Regarding number 1: don’t do that. That said, I can understand a person getting past puberty, looking back on what they’d written down or recorded thus far, and calling it a day. Self is a lot to bear, and how much more so our adolescent selves.
Assuming you didn’t stop recording things after puberty, then it is likely that you’ve perused old journals, read papers from your freshman year of college, or slowly thumbed through photos of a past lover.
Is your younger self gazed upon with wonder and amazement? Are you brave enough to read what you wrote down in journals during college and look back with fondness at the stage of development you were in at that time? Can you also see the various stages of development that have occurred between then and now, and name them as necessary and good?
Or do you read what you wrote at 19 and hate yourself?
Being diligent to write things down is difficult, looking back on self with shame is easy, and seeing good is relatively impossible. The good is there; seeing it is the task.
My friend Jay said the other day, “Be kind to your past.” I wrote those words down.
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Last month I took a week off and went to Providence, Boston, and New York City. The trip was needed, much anticipated, and not disappointing. I met some of the most kind, loving people in Providence (Eli and Dylan are the two kids in the photograph above, and they are gold) and spent a day walking around Boston Commons. Lastly I stayed three days in NYC with my buddy Jake, saw friends Anna Bond and Kory Westerhold, and spent $5.00 every morning on subway tickets in order to get a cup of Stumptown Coffee at the Ace Hotel.
Thanks again, Jake & Maggie, for your kindness.
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Last weekend I shot a wedding at a church called ROCK OF AGES! in Seattle. First off, you know it was a dude who named that church, and likely that dude was really into hair metal in the 80’s, became a christian in the early 90’s, and inevitably had one of those CD smashing parties in their front lawn with their dad’s sledge hammer. It was mandatory in the 90’s for new christians to attend a CD smashing party. Judas Priest, Sister Hazel, and even some pop bands were included in the stack of jewel cases littered on the lawn. But then they came to bands like U2 and everyone got confused because they aren’t overtly religious but they have undertones. Let’s just set it aside and we’ll decide later. Yeah that’s a good idea. BUT TO HELL WITH YOU OZZY!
Then a week later that same dude went back to Tower Records and bought those same records again, without telling his new christian friends, and the record companies got a good giggle.
In ROCK OF AGES! I was doing the bit where you line up the groomsmen and the bridesmaids to get their photos together. The women looked absolutely stunning and they smelled nice, which is a definite perk of photographing weddings. The groomsmen were, as is almost always the case, nervous, sweaty, and a little awkward. Awkward is sort of attractive when it’s the Dick Van Dyke Trips Over The Ottoman Gets Up Straightens His Tie kind of awkward, but that wasn’t happening. And I get it; they’re dudes and young and I can be the same way, but getting them to stand next to these great women was a task.
“Guys, listen. I know that your hands have never known a woman, and this is not your chance, but it’s close! All I need for you to do is stand there, smile, and let the women steal the photograph. You can even let your shoulders touch their shoulders if they say it’s ok!”
One girl in the back of the church laughed, and I felt validated. I don’t think the guys appreciated it, since none of them talked to me for the rest of the evening.
Anyway, have a good weekend.
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