Dune - Razorback
Dune
It's about 6:15 in the morning in the Namibian desert. As I look through the window of our tour bus, the rising sun casts a bronze like hue across the landscape. And there, passing us by, is dune 45. It's relief glares at us in high contrast. It’s hard to describe how impressive it looks this morning. I am in awe of that high hill, a razor sharp stripe between black and the rust coloured sand. There in the distance little ant like people climb up its ridge giving me a measure of its height. As we approach the park where dune 45 stood, I know I have to climb that wonder myself.
It is 6:45 am by the time we get started. The temperature is already at around 22 degrees Celsius and we are glad we have our filled water bottle in our little daypacks. There are four of us together from the tour. A couple from England has joined my partner, Isobel and me. The climb is slow and cautious following the footsteps ahead of us, and from our vantage point, the Dune looks steep and a bit daunting. Our footing is not particularly solid as it slips back and forth in the loosened sand. The higher we get, the more we notice the contrast between one side and another, and then the steepening slope on either side. Our path is less than 10 inches wide and for a moment I have a sense of vertigo, a little dizziness, and I am not too sure of my stability with a slight concern about toppling over. Eventually I am able to look straight ahead at the people in front and the confidence in my step sets in. Around 7:15 we are about 3/4 of the way up and some of us were getting tired. But as I look ahead and see my younger fellow travelers on the Crest of the hill, I just have to make it up to the top, so I continue on my own.
The higher I climb, the Namibian desert lays itself out before me in various shades of color: Beige , Rust, Amber, Burnt Amber, Sage, Sky Blue. I always thought that the desert was a uniform colour, but it certainly is not. There’s a sparse ground plant growth which turns parts of the desert floor a kind of a dark sage green. As I reach the top to join the others, I get a round of applause from the younger members of the group. Being the oldest, it’s kind of nice to be acknowledged for my effort.
As I stand there in awe and look around me, I become aware of a number of things: that every side, big or small scale, has its complement; for every perspective there is another. The vastness of the empty space around me as I look across the landscape, is a powerful reminder that for everything, there seems to be something much bigger, more vast, much more whole. I am also aware that if I stand half a foot off on one side of the ridge or the other there isn't much difference, but if I go down one side to the bottom there would be at least 200 meters to the other side. This is like many choices we make in our lives: we often cannot see the impact until we arrive. And even then, we may never know it precisely. Only from a different view can we understand - in this case, from a higher perspective. And it dawns on me, isn't that the way it is for all that we do? All we really, truly have is the present moment and the perspective that is presented to us. And, the meaning of our experience develops from what we bring to it in terms of our biology, our mind, our openness, our curiosity and willingness to learn.
Now that I am up at the top, I inevitably have to consider how I am going to get down. The easy way is just to turn around and reverse my course. Yet, as I look down the side of the dune, I wondered what it would be like to go straight down the side. I think, “Oh my God, at 73, I must be kidding. That's awfully steep and awfully far”. Then a younger couple decids for me as they took the plunge. It looks quite manageable and I decide “well. I don't know how many years I have left, so why waste the opportunity,“ and down I go. It‘s such an exhilarating feeling as my heels stabilized into the hillside which holds me with some give and allows me to half walk-half slide down. As I go I am aware of the big dragging footprints I‘m leaving in the sand and that they would soon be swept away by the wind in a relatively short period of time. Nature seems to take care of whatever traces that are left, and that's true for us, too. We are all here for a very short time. We may or may not leave behind a notable legacy. Yet, what we really do leave behind is the preparation for the life that follows after we're gone. In a sense that's how we live on. Like footprints on a beach being slowly washed away by waves across the sand, everything integrates.
The sharp contrast of the shadow versus the sun-lit sand and the razor thin edge between captured me from the bus window. I know that the shadow would reverse itself in the setting sun. For me this day presents the lesson of the ebb and flow of life - of day and night, the going the ups and the going downs, the shifting of shape that connects to perspective. This experience confirms that nothing changes without risk and commitment. Effort and surrender are compliments. For every side, there is a complementary one. Every shape that presents itself can be seen and presented in different ways: it can be transposed, it can be complemented, it can be separated, and it can be harmonized. The colours can shift with the position of the light. What looks like rust in the morning is a bright glazing tawny in the afternoon.
The relationship between all bodies on this Earth is what gives our lives contrast, evokes a sense of wonder, stimulates our curiosity and our eagerness to learn, and creates a story. Some of this I tried to capture in the painting by shifting into various perspectives or complementary sides that were then presented to me as a unified dune. In the process I've transposed my own thinking, my own inner wonderment, my own experience onto the canvas. I suspect whoever views this painting will have their own impact, interpretation and perspective. That’s the power that art offers us all – artist and viewer.
It's about 6:15 in the morning in the Namibian desert. As I look through the window of our tour bus, the rising sun casts a bronze like hue across the landscape. And there, passing us by, is dune 45. It's relief glares at us in high contrast. It’s hard to describe how impressive it looks this morning. I am in awe of that high hill, a razor sharp stripe between black and the rust coloured sand. There in the distance little ant like people climb up its ridge giving me a measure of its height. As we approach the park where dune 45 stood, I know I have to climb that wonder myself.
It is 6:45 am by the time we get started. The temperature is already at around 22 degrees Celsius and we are glad we have our filled water bottle in our little daypacks. There are four of us together from the tour. A couple from England has joined my partner, Isobel and me. The climb is slow and cautious following the footsteps ahead of us, and from our vantage point, the Dune looks steep and a bit daunting. Our footing is not particularly solid as it slips back and forth in the loosened sand. The higher we get, the more we notice the contrast between one side and another, and then the steepening slope on either side. Our path is less than 10 inches wide and for a moment I have a sense of vertigo, a little dizziness, and I am not too sure of my stability with a slight concern about toppling over. Eventually I am able to look straight ahead at the people in front and the confidence in my step sets in. Around 7:15 we are about 3/4 of the way up and some of us were getting tired. But as I look ahead and see my younger fellow travelers on the Crest of the hill, I just have to make it up to the top, so I continue on my own.
The higher I climb, the Namibian desert lays itself out before me in various shades of color: Beige , Rust, Amber, Burnt Amber, Sage, Sky Blue. I always thought that the desert was a uniform colour, but it certainly is not. There’s a sparse ground plant growth which turns parts of the desert floor a kind of a dark sage green. As I reach the top to join the others, I get a round of applause from the younger members of the group. Being the oldest, it’s kind of nice to be acknowledged for my effort.
As I stand there in awe and look around me, I become aware of a number of things: that every side, big or small scale, has its complement; for every perspective there is another. The vastness of the empty space around me as I look across the landscape, is a powerful reminder that for everything, there seems to be something much bigger, more vast, much more whole. I am also aware that if I stand half a foot off on one side of the ridge or the other there isn't much difference, but if I go down one side to the bottom there would be at least 200 meters to the other side. This is like many choices we make in our lives: we often cannot see the impact until we arrive. And even then, we may never know it precisely. Only from a different view can we understand - in this case, from a higher perspective. And it dawns on me, isn't that the way it is for all that we do? All we really, truly have is the present moment and the perspective that is presented to us. And, the meaning of our experience develops from what we bring to it in terms of our biology, our mind, our openness, our curiosity and willingness to learn.
Now that I am up at the top, I inevitably have to consider how I am going to get down. The easy way is just to turn around and reverse my course. Yet, as I look down the side of the dune, I wondered what it would be like to go straight down the side. I think, “Oh my God, at 73, I must be kidding. That's awfully steep and awfully far”. Then a younger couple decids for me as they took the plunge. It looks quite manageable and I decide “well. I don't know how many years I have left, so why waste the opportunity,“ and down I go. It‘s such an exhilarating feeling as my heels stabilized into the hillside which holds me with some give and allows me to half walk-half slide down. As I go I am aware of the big dragging footprints I‘m leaving in the sand and that they would soon be swept away by the wind in a relatively short period of time. Nature seems to take care of whatever traces that are left, and that's true for us, too. We are all here for a very short time. We may or may not leave behind a notable legacy. Yet, what we really do leave behind is the preparation for the life that follows after we're gone. In a sense that's how we live on. Like footprints on a beach being slowly washed away by waves across the sand, everything integrates.
The sharp contrast of the shadow versus the sun-lit sand and the razor thin edge between captured me from the bus window. I know that the shadow would reverse itself in the setting sun. For me this day presents the lesson of the ebb and flow of life - of day and night, the going the ups and the going downs, the shifting of shape that connects to perspective. This experience confirms that nothing changes without risk and commitment. Effort and surrender are compliments. For every side, there is a complementary one. Every shape that presents itself can be seen and presented in different ways: it can be transposed, it can be complemented, it can be separated, and it can be harmonized. The colours can shift with the position of the light. What looks like rust in the morning is a bright glazing tawny in the afternoon.
The relationship between all bodies on this Earth is what gives our lives contrast, evokes a sense of wonder, stimulates our curiosity and our eagerness to learn, and creates a story. Some of this I tried to capture in the painting by shifting into various perspectives or complementary sides that were then presented to me as a unified dune. In the process I've transposed my own thinking, my own inner wonderment, my own experience onto the canvas. I suspect whoever views this painting will have their own impact, interpretation and perspective. That’s the power that art offers us all – artist and viewer.
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