Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Late River. Patch of raw sienna, reddish brown against the green. Corners dinged—the status of the universe—and a few remaindered pin holes roughly in the middle. Late evening, Yang-shuo, autumn of 2003. A darkened room, right on the river--the Li Jiang, windows open to the night. Sound of unseen waters, moving. One light in the distance—a fishing boat?—but no sound. Time disappears as well—that same view, a thousand years before. All present.