leaving scotland.
Leaving Scotland before the driech of November is difficult. I have come to love the crisp clarity of early autumn that many writers have taken as all that is most beautiful before it dies, all that is ripe before it is decaying. It is the point of balance that we all want to capture at its peak and prolong to infinity. We are desperate to learn about how the apex of maturity forms and builds up. We are less keen on experiencing how the coating on the shiny, tough edges start to peel. As rust builds underneath the surface, we may pass off the minor changes in skin texture as mere tiredness.
I miss you too much and the autumn mornings cannot soothe.
knock knock.
while i was doing the washing-up this teenage seagull came and knocked on the window, expecting food. it was almost endearing.
no city is like aberdeen where you can have the dreariest of days like this one in the middle of july.
writing a thesis
[still writing, rewriting, rigging, shaking]
It isn’t easy to define a pebble.
If you’re satisfied with a simple description you can start out by saying that it’s a form or state of stone halfway between rocks and gravel.
But this already implies a concept of stone that must be validated. So don’t blame me for going even further back than the flood.Francis Ponge
february in aberdeen.
part of the weekend was put aside for our education of attention through drawing. try spending time in the city, taking time to be slow, hanging out, watching everything very closely, and try to draw what you see, the people, the movements, odd things out of place, shapes and twists and miracles. it’s great how you start noticing things again, and you perceive them more sharply, it’s great. you look at things afresh.
this space will probably be less busy from now on, just as a warning. i spend too much time in front of the screen anyways, and will need to keep my attention on the thesis, so i can get it ready slowly slowly slowly.
so when the snowdrops will be replaced by cherryblossoms, i might submit. it’s a wild dream for now, but then, i am a wild thing. grrr. 
crossroads.
do you sometimes wonder what we’ll remember?
glenmorangie yet way below average alcohol content tonight, somewhat paradigmatic for myself
thumbwrestling allusions and songs that i cannot sing along to, the joys of being abroad
difficult conversation and the lightness of being with girls, momentary connection
the large windows and people constantly taking pictures weirdly, edgy drunk producing aggressive standoffs
what were you doing? what a long week it’s been you walking everywhere
reading about drawing…
Quote by one of the most celebrated calligraphers of the Tang Dynasty, Sun Guoting (AD 648-703):
Consider the difference between the ‘suspended needle (xuanzhen)’ and ‘hanging-dewdrop (chuilu)’ brush strokes, and then consider the marvels of rolling thunder and toppling rocks, the postures of wild geese in flight and beasts in fright, the attitudes of phoenixes dancing and snakes startled, the power of sheer cliffs and crumbling peaks, the shapes of facing danger and holding on to rotten wood, which are sometimes heavy like threatening clouds and sometimes light like cicada wings; consider that when the brush moves, water flows from a spring, and when the brush stops, a mountain stands firm consider what is very, very, light, as if the new moon were rising at the sky’s edge, and what is very, very clear like the multitude of stars arrayed in the Milky Way – these are the same as the subtle mysteries of nature: they cannot be forced.
I found it in Tim Ingold’s Lines, p. 131…
It brought to mind the words one Chinese historian spoke to me at the conference: everything the West thinks it invented, the Chinese had at least a few centuries earlier. Everytime.
I am attempting to focus on reading, while my solarplexus is raging. It is not a comfortable time in the library.
scotland.
Villages are often discussed as if they were natural organisms, ancient as the very hills. But Ferryden’s history began quite abruptly in the early middle years of the eighteenth century. A local laird (large landowner) decided to establish a colony of fishermen and their families on his coastal estate just south of the town. It was not unusual to create a village in this way. In fact, villages themselves were not widespread in Scotland before this time. Houston (I948:129) tells us that
the very name ‘village’ is alien to Scotland and a definition of the term can only be arbitrary. . . . The exclusive marketing monopolies of the Scottish Royal Burghs until the i6th century, are largely responsible for the lack of marked villages until the end of the I8th century, and for the belated development of her rural industries.
And:
It was not uncommon at this time for a laird to own a “fish-toun” as he might a “ferm-toun.” Coull (I969:24) says that many Scottish fishermen were tenants, subject to fixed obligations to their landlords:
This persisted into the latter part of the eighteenth century, as is instanced at Fraserburgh, where the fisherman was bound to serve for a fixed period in a boat … and at Buckie it is reported that the laird Dunbar drove his men to sea when they were reluctant to go out in adverse weather.
[from Nadel, Jane Hurwitz (1984) ‘Stigma and Separation: Pariah Status and Community Persistence in a Scottish Fishing Village’ Ethnology 23(2): 101-115]
I still find it fascinating, after all these years, how few landowners there are in Scotland, compared to, say, the rest of Britain. What does this little excerpt tell you?
Sorry I had to yield to temptation and upload a really cheesy-stereotypical picture of a man (hardly) in a kilt. hehe. i should know better, but i have my weaknesses.
aberdeen at night.
single piece of advice: learn to spell ‘fuel’ before starting the revolution. thanks ever so much.
this informative piece of graffiti got ripped off a few nights later from this supermarket advertisement panel.
l’île aux trésors.
Je découvre que le portugais est une langue pleine de surprises et beaucoup plus attirante que l’espagnol. Bizarres et effrayantes parallèles entre une île atlantique volcanique et la Roumanie. Ses gorges et ravines m’ont accueillie et j’ai découvert des cascades de nuages rêveurs et d’eaux limpides. J’ai trouvé un fragile équilibre et j’ai rétabli mes ressources créatives. J’ai vu de nouvelles choses et mon corps a retrouvé la mer après plus de deux ans. J’ai chanté et j’ai retrouvé le plaisir de vivre. Merci à vous qui m’avez accueillie dans votre foyer.
Je retourne en Ecosse un peu timide, mais heureuse et le cœur plein de soleil. Cela vaut le coup de partir de temps en temps. Je ne dis rien de nouveau, les anciens maîtres en étaient conscients du temps de partir et de retourner!
Mais surtout: vous n’êtes pas oublié(e)s…
Peut-être je n’aurai plus rien à écrire sur ces pages, mais vous resterez présent(e)s dans mes pensées.
Photos à suivre, inch’allah! (ou: si Mac veut bien…)
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