Lazy afternoon rays shaft through spring’s full trees. The wind cuts laterally leaving the sea. Through deck lattice, the grass weaves a tartan plaid. Electric lines, old stone two stories houses, and blossoming crops create a setting where weavers weave as their fingers entwine baskets to collect what is left from our land.
No matter what happens,
No matter the forsaken grief that envelopes your heart and your being as you endeavor to live
Always remember to walk in the valley of life and to acknowledge all who have walked here and all who are yet to tread upon this sacred ground
We all must make this trek
But to all who have tread before us and to all who are yet to promenade through in the wake of what trailblazing we leave behind
We must always remember to walk in the valley of life, to keep it alive, for it holds a collective memory of a nation.
The sun has a twinkle, as it rises over the mountain High. I stood there. Staring. A snow-capped peak stared back. I became exceedingly captivated by its beauty and its opulent presence.
Sea born mist hangs low, one can almost smell November in the vineyards. The grape leaves curl in fall colors and the sun has no warmth anymore, only last year’s vintage to shake the chill. Summer’s essence is held in a glass. Earths vocation and fruit lay sweetly in a bottle. You can still feel the summer’s Mediterranean sun in the bouquet of last year’s wine. This familiar scent of earth, water, and grapes is the scent of home.
As a business model, the art gallery occupies a unique position. Functioning as the bridge between art’s existence as a commercial enterprise and its role as a philosophical pursuit, a gallery, unlike other businesses, has a measure of success that is completely divorced from its financial earnings: by championing important artists, and putting on daring and provocative shows, they can become part of art history even if they never generate a massive profit.
What happened to this place that once stood tall? Served as a palace of intellectual growth, or perhaps a gateway from one place to another time, one world to another realm, connecting minds and hearts.
The asphalt road ends with a beaten track. Although one is connected to the other, yet there is a clear line of division between the manmade road and the one that the trees and the passing of time have devised.