December 19th

what secrets hidden

behind the eyes of the hive

children hurrying

Sometimes I look at people and wonder what their lives are like, whether they are happy or sad. Whether they feel fulfilled. Whether they have tried their best, whether they have regrets. Sometimes I feel an intense sadness, for seemingly no reason whatsoever, there is something I pick up, in someone’s face, the way they walk, it may just be a reflection of what I’m feeling deep down. But it’s a despair, a pity. I sense something powerfully lonely about it all, about individuals, about a place, where so many millions of people live, yet so many people are on their own.

We are all children of routine, the morning rush at Paddington an example of it. Rushing, time our master. It’s the way of the world. I had a spare half an hour waiting for my train. It’s fascinating when you step outside of that and just watch. And somehow ever so sad.

October 18th

 

granite admiral

lion guards shrapnel punctured

black bronze vigilant

I was at a customer location and from the meeting room I could clearly see Nelson’s Column. Not the ground level, not his four bronze lions, bomb damaged in the second world war, just the jagged outline of the London skyline with his upright stance in the midst of it.

London is a wonderful place, dunked in history, rich areas shunted up against poor, culture, religion, music, art. Despite the abundance of traffic, people and noise, I can disappear there. I can find some peace in knowing I am a speck of dust, unseen, wandering, watching, thinking. I’m not so naive to suppose that others share my experience, I can go home, to D, to be loved and to love.

I know that for some, London can bring sadness, an aching loneliness, that despite all of the faces, some of whom you know will like you, even love you, you will never see them again. Just a split second of eye contact, on the escalator, in the throng of commuters, in the rush of the city. Time.

July 6th

my insignificance

in the majesty of stars

a lonely vigil

I popped into the new Edvard Munch exhibition at the Tate Modern after work. I rushed through as I wanted to get a taste for it, as a member I can visit anytime for a more leisurely (although leisurely may be the wrong word) visit at a later date. Munch is one of my favourite painters. The collection they’ve pulled together for this exhibition is great. There is an intense loneliness about his work.

For example, Starry Night. Initially it seems this is a celebration of stars and clear crisp nights. And indeed it is. But what appears to be the artists shadow thrown across the ground just speaks of loneliness and melancholy to me. How we are alone. It moves me. As does most of his work.

(pic from Tate website)