The pictures from this little series Across were taken during a four day road trip from Indiana to California.
One would think that the first half or so takes us through a rather featureless landscape. While this is true, the brain starts to focus on the little unusual things that are not just strips of earth and sky.
Trains quickly become a favorite. At least, they move, too.
There are terrible places like meat factories, and other traces of the human condition.
It is amazing to see that traffic works.
The majority of the drivers are cooperative, even friendly, and the few maniacs can be smiled away and quickly forgotten. Driving is maybe the major education in cooperation and communicative skills the average US person receives these days.
When automatic cars become reality, where will people learn how to treat each other?
Let’s enter here:
The space we are entering is the Hole-in-the-Wall Rings Trail in the Mojave National Preserve. As a loop trail, it suggests that we are surrounding something by walking this trail. The opposite is the case, the landscape of narrow canyons seems to surround us.
The walls of this enclosure contains molds — for whom?
We need to be here early in the morning to experience the near total silence. This silence is paradoxical, too: It is not the absence of sound that asks to be filled with sound, it is the sort of silence that invites us to be quiet, too.
The holes and cracks are signs of what we need most, protection and growth.
The Mojave is the driest desert in North America. There is nothing here for us to take but beauty.
It’s time to leave, for now:
For the reopening of the Eskenazi Museum of Art in Bloomington, Elizabeth Limons Shea created the ballet Ascension to be performed throughout the building.
The open architecture (designed by I. M. Pei) of the building allows for unusual gestures and views.
The ensemble consisted of about a dozen dancers, performing in small groups.
The display of intimacy with each other and the building was quite compelling.
How much integration is possible? Art, building, performers, spectators, all one?
After the sudden snow fall, Strahl Lake was in motion.
Moving fog, rippled water and reflections in the sun shine created the illusion of a silent orchestra performing.
Micro-tornados performed a ballet for hours, oblivious of the small audience.
I think I will chime in.
Persistent temperatures below freezing and a fair amount of snow are unusual here in the middle of November.
Still green trees are prematurely frozen.
The steep roads were so icy that I decided to take a hike to the Strahl Lake instead of risking a car wreck. Usual this trail is rather bland, but the early snow provided some inspiring views.
We all should try to show that much color when we are frozen…
All this will thaw in the next few days, and slowly fade. It tells us that we need to catch the moment when it’s there.
A week later, after the weather turned cold and a storm went through, the fall is almost over.
The vibrance is gone, and the mood has changed.
There is an optimistic sadness in these pictures, that expresses that there are times to come after the times to come.
Light and Darkness have become one.
Maybe they are getting ready for one last effort before what promises to be a long winter.
This has been a strange fall season. After a hot and dry summer, many trees seemed to have given up and shed leaves before they turned color.
When it finally happened, the intensity was dazzling.
My favorite time and place are the early morning hours at Strahl Lake, where light, darkness, and reflection seem to multiply the silence.
One should spend an entire night there, like the lone heron in the first picture, becoming one with the landscape.
This instant change seems dramatic like the mood change of a person from being calm to being upset.
My first blog post here from almost five years ago shows the same view. The trees have grown, some have fallen, but the place remains visibly the same. Such stability is admirable, given the times.