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I thought living would get easier the older I became.
Not true.
Perhaps I thought, as I learned the rules for living, how to behave, I would settle into my fragile shell of skin.
If there are moments of silence in this – an absence of words – do not worry, for sometimes pictures speak softer than words and yet carry thought deeper into heart and into soul.
So rest your souls a while in the images. Read slowly, for there should be silence between words. The doves will keep you company.
A web of sorrow
My child’s mind learned of war through television, through history.
It seems that it is always the stories of war we tell.
Seldom the stories of peace.
The accident of my birth made me fortunate.
I grew and have lived in a peaceful place – so far.
And yet, in 62 years, around the world, so many wars, so much conflict.
But now, more than ever, how broken the world does feel,
and grief and sorrow wrap a web around the world.
Why are the stories of peace so hard to tell?
Where are the great epics of peace?
What is the use of art in a fractured and broken world – and therefore, what is the use of me?
Peace in paint
When a fire burns inside my mind, I paint.
Pigment, paper, water calm my soul,
still my mind,
bring focus to scattered thought.
Painting becomes ritual.
Painting becomes prayer.
And these days, prayers are all for peace,
and hope moves through every image.
White. Pure. Flight. Freedom.
A symbol of peace.
A symbol of hope.
Strength in the fragility of wings, as they fly in the world’s winds and onto paper, until I begin to understand their shape and paint a flock to fly around the world.
Picasso too found peace in paint.
He lived through wars, through desperate times.
When young, his rivalry with Matisse was bitter – a fight, each with their own idea of beauty, of art.
But as they grew, rivalry became friendship.
Late in life, Matisse gave his beloved doves to his beloved friend.
Their dove, painted by Picasso, became an emblem for peace in 1949.
He named his child, born 23 April 1949, Paloma – for the dove of peace.
Creativity in troubled times
I search for peace, to write of peace, knowing I have so many questions,
knowing I have no answers.
The more I search, the more elusive peace does seem to be.
And it does seem a vain, naive, indulgent act – making art in these times.
Toni Morrison spoke of creativity in troubled times.
She said,
“This is precisely the time when artists go to work.
There is no time for despair,
no place for self-pity,
no need for silence,
no room for fear.
We speak,
we write,
we do language.
That is how civilisations heal.”
Finding courage and hope
Salena Godden’s poem Pessimism is for Lightweights gives me hope, courage, strength.
But hate speaks with a loud voice.
War is a bully, a thief, violent, destructive, chaotic, ugly.
I am naive, but not arrogant enough to believe that I could write a great epic of peace.
And yet, as doves and wings and the peace of wild things dominate my thoughts,
I would like to try – to craft a book with words and images
that might become a place where others could find peace,
even for a moment.
That could be a talisman, to carry in a pocket.
That could be a small book of prayers – for peace.
Stolen lives…
Already I have learned so much, and the more I learn, the more difficult the task.
As a species, we are hard-wired to learn through stories.
Politics, news inflate the idea of conflict.
The only people who profit from war are those who make and sell weapons.
Their bank accounts grow heavy with the blood of innocence –
but heavier still than this are the smallest of the coffins.
So many small lives stolen from us all.
So many futures ended,
by the hatred of a few,
by the actions of a few,
because of fear,
hate,
war.
We need new ways of thinking.
We need to look to others for lessons.
Everything that will be in the human world
first needs to be imagined before it can come to be.
And if peace is a state of mind,
it needs memory to thrive,
justice to grow,
forgiveness, reconciliation, and love to blossom,
courage to share.
We need to see our place in this world in a different light,
if we are to cease making war on each other
and on our fragile planet.
And yet, even on a personal level, I find I am conflicted within –
at war with myself,
uneasy, restless,
aggressive, challenged.
I too am quick to anger,
to meet anger with anger,
too slow to listen,
and have so many lessons to learn.
Giving space to each other
From trees, I can learn how to give space to others.
Trees seem to me to have a wisdom humans lack.
The biggest trees in the forest do not hoard and hoard more and more.
Instead, they give.
They give shelter and shade,
food, breath,
a home to many other small lives.
They depend on other lives to flourish,
but do not exploit to survive.
Finding peace, through the anger
I wish to fast –
to fast from anger and be filled with patience.
But how can we not be angry when we see the ravages of war?
So I try to turn my anger into finding peace,
in the hope that it will help others.
And I try to turn that anger into painting doves,
in the hope that they will help others to find peace.
And I try to turn that anger into asking questions,
seeking answers – in the hope of finding peace.
I wish also to fast from words and be silent,
so that I may listen…
…but not to remain silent in the face of injustice.
So I try to speak, without fear.
If I get things wrong, I am sorry.
I hope to learn.
Though these days, I hope to learn more from wild things –
as humans seem so filled with folly,
even when we feel ourselves to be so wise.
And I do so need to fast from words and listen…
So I ask…
Imagine peace
What does it mean for you?
What is the word for peace in your mother tongue?
What does peace look like?
Where do you find peace?
These are some of the places I find peace:
In the flight of birds.
In the green light beneath trees.
In the sound of wind moving over land.
In the star patterns that move with time in the darkest of skies.
In the summer scent of horses – sunshine on warm coats.
In the scent of blossom from wild flowers –
unexpected honeysuckle on clifftop.
When reading something beautiful – especially poetry.
When painting.
Beside the sea.
In the patterns of light on water.
Walking in the wild –
and also, sometimes in cities.
Whilst knitting.
Making food for friends to share –
especially bread, for the magic of it.
In the arrival of swallows in spring – far travellers –
imagining their journey over land, over sea.
In birdsong and the language of birds –
today in the voices of skylarks, rising in the blue.
In trees – their shape in spring with fresh leaves unfurling,
blossom, green, then the burning bright autumn leaves.
And how birdsong becomes richer in spring.
In the rarity of being still, with a calm mind.
In beautiful art.
In beautiful music.
The sound of a cello.
And in the peace of wild things.
And all of this, all these words, could be summarised with a few words:
Please, cease fire, now.
