Sunday, February 15, 2015


“Your mind is also blocked.
Yet the right road awaits you still.
Cast out your doubts, your fears and your desires,
let go of grief and of hope as well,
for where these rule the mind is their subject.”

~ Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy.

Hoping to do justice to my years of conscientious work on this site, I’ll begin the year with this short note. My recent three months of exhaustion have brought my creative pursuits to a detrimental silence. Along with tireless full-time employment, I’ve taken on the role of caregiving and advocating family member. Between these two spheres, journal writing has been thinly inserted during short breaks and in places such as waiting-rooms, kitchen counters, and surgical units. On most nights, after work, my appetite has intuitively gravitated toward reading- reading consoling words. I intend to explore the latter theme with an essay. Added to these trying times, northern New England remains in the throes of winter weather which has exceeded most recorded statistics.

Today, I reminded myself of an employment burnout experience- years ago- when I drove to an ocean cove, rather than back to my apartment. I needed to interrupt the breakneck pace, and clear my thoughts. Looking at the crags, the vast sky, and the waves, it occurred to me that I hadn’t been making any new photographs. Possessing the tools and the vernacular was not sufficient; these instruments and the mind needed to be put to greater use than to merely punch the time-clock. The following weekend, I began developing film and printing my own work again. Needless to say, this led to several shows. But the important thing was the retaking of my own creative threads.

This past week I gave a lecture, and referred to my concept of the archives of the soul. Each one of us collect, curate, and organize our own preserved thoughts, images, and “recordings.” We bring life to our archives as we share them. Later that night, I thought of how I must continue practicing what I preach. Vigilant daily journal-writing, in and around participating in life, will surely lead to something. Just that small shred of hope, albeit beneath some eighty inches of snow, is enough to record these words and post them. More to follow, as I persevere.