An Old Man and the Desert

 

It was my birthday a few days ago. I do not celebrate birthdays anymore, even when others remind me of it.

There was a lot of snow on the ground that day. The desert is accepting when it gets covered. The heavy and wet snow bends the alderleaf mountain mahogany brush to the ground. To the sand. And the Crocodile Juniper trees lower their branches as if elderly folks secretly remembering.

And the horizon becomes flatter. And the desert becomes the horizon.

So I sat in my chair that has taken my body shape over the years. And sipped on luke-warm green tea and thought of things other than my birthday.

Then, searched through my favorite books on shelves that kept them together. Upright. Gibran, Voltaire, Tennyson, Balzac, Alexis Carrel. Then, I stopped and pulled Hemingway out of the file line. “Perfect” I thought “The Old Man and the Sea” is good to re-read today. Maybe I will discover a new line; or a new meaning to an old line.”

I went to Chapter Two. I felt like joining the old man going to sea after eighty four days without catching a fish.

I have read Hemingway’s works countless times, in three languages. While translations tell of the story and not the author’s genius, I enjoy discovering how that genius is pan-human, touching culture and spirituality through thoughts and images beyond the subtleties of the original language.

.. And I rode alongside the old man in his small skiff. There were other fishermen going to the sea before sunrise. I thought I saw the lanterns on each fisherman’s skiff quietly cutting the waves. I was quiet too so I would let the old man feel lucky on that day. I knew he had told Manolin that he felt lucky this morning.

And then, I heard a whisper in my ear. It was Hemingway. He said:

“There were other boats going out to sea and the old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them.”

I put the book on my knees, took another sip of the now cold green tea, and thought about my birthday.

.. The old man heard the dip and push of their oars even though he could not see them. I realised that at that moment I was also hearing the oars of passage, their dips and push. I was on different continents, in cities I have never been to, and with people many I had not met. Yet, I knew they were there but could not see them.  I was with descendents of native Samoans in the north of Taiwan; found myself in the catacombs of Prague; and relived the last time I saw my parents in Paris.

And then, I felt a touch on my foot. It was my old dog who had put his large Akita paw on my right foot and was looking at me with his honey-brown eyes. He wanted to go outside and play in the snow.

So, wondered when I will read Hemingway again as I put “The Old Man and the Sea” back on the shelve.

And went out with my dog to play in the snow.

An old man, an old dog and the desert under snow.

 

February 21, 2024

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024

Heartfelt "Thank You" to Readers of my Blogs

 

I started my first blog in 2005 in memory of our daughter who passed at the age of 12. Since then I have shared my interests in various forms of expression through three blogs covering my photography and darkroom work (2013), my essays and poetry (2013) and paintings/sculpture inspired by the Southwestern arts (2017).

At the beginning of 2024, I was humbled to surpass more than 80,000 views of these blogs from 60+ countries. The past decade has been a delightful departure from the media I had used in the past all of which included printed matter of books and articles. And in some instances, while readers of my blogs are kept anonymous, many have continued to communicate with me via email.

For all of you unknown or known, I want to express my gratitude for reading what I post.

And for any new visitor to one of my blogs, here are the coordinates if exploring is something you enjoy:

I provide the links to my latest postings. As in any blog, previous posts can be read by scrolling down or choosing the years of posting shown on the right of the screen.

B&W photography blog (2013)

https://liveingray.blogspot.com/2023/12/a-1967-ricoh-singlex-tls-from-antiques.html

 

Essays and poetry (2013)

https://www.blogger.com/blog/posts/3446791370092270154

 

Painting and sculpture (2017)

https://vaheark.blogspot.com/2023/11/woman-and-quail.html

 

Many thanks!

 

February 11, 2024

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024

When an Echo Finds its Voice

 

We are all the echo of the past. The echo of ideas, of secret tremours, and of black cats crossing streets. Most of us remain an echo and our journey becomes a simple passage.

The echo of the future somehow resonates in a few of us. The unhappened find us and our passage becomes a personal gift, not the harbor of passed age. It becomes a destination we know we cannot reach.

Until, on an August morning, we listen to the rain drops run down the window panels, and we find our voice. We are not an echo anymore. We become simple and grateful.

And that personal gift, we share it with someone. With others. And we take only from ourselves. And we give only from ourselves.

 

February 9, 2024

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024

Siamo Tutti Semi in Attesa della Pioggia

 

 

It was mid-1970s, in Bari, Italy. A port in South Italy with a rich history of Greek and Roman influence. Piazza del Ferrarese was where I walked every day admiring the medieval habitational structures mix with modern ones. In early morning, it was my favorite environment for B&W photography.

In my travels, Bari remains one of the three places I have discovered historic Armenian churches where there were no or only a handful Armenians still living. The other ones were The Armenian churches in Armenopolis⁽¹⁾ (Gherla) in Romania, and in Singapore^(2,3).

… As I came out of The Church of San Gregorio, I took my 1954 Kiev camera out of my bag, which got the attention of a young artist who was sketching the church.

“Un purista!” he exclaimed.

He wanted to see my camera, so I sat by him.

“I like old cameras” I said “and I like your work with charcoal.”

He rolled a cigarette and asked why I was visiting the church.

“I am Armenian, and Saint Gregory the Illuminator is the patron saint of Armenia” I replied.

While still playing with my camera, he introduced himself:

“I am a student at the Bari Academy of the Fine Arts, and the Church of San Gregorio is my project for this week. Before painting, we have to learn the history of the monuments, so yes, I know about this Armenian Church. Did you know it dates from the 10^th century?”

So, for a short while we talked about ourselves.

“You are the first Armenian I have ever known” he said. “Keep talking, but do permit me to keep sketching as the shades change quickly with the light.”

At some point he said:

“You have been inside the church, did you see the three navate della chiesa?”

I did not know what navate meant.

“Each church corridor is called navata, amico. There are three navate in this church, and the façade we are now looking at is tripartite matching the internal architectural theme. My goal is to capture this façade in a way that my painting tells the story of the three navate.”

We were quiet for a while, so he rolled another cigarette.

“The shades are gone, I have to come back tomorrow” he said. “I hope you come back again to take photos with your camera antica. This church has the most Romanesque façade in Bari. Maybe I will see you again?”

I smiled:

“You called me a purist when you saw my camera – I think I will be back. You and I wait for that moment to capture, that moment that fleets, that moment that makes our experience uniquely shared with others.”

As he was packing his drawing pad and pencils, he became philosophical:

“My teacher says Siamo Tutti Semi in Attesa Della pioggia (we all are seeds waiting for rain) – maybe you were my rain today. Maybe my painting will incorporate more than what my eyes have seen. Gracie!”

 

February 4, 2024

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024

 About the photo: I took it inside a historic Italian church near Bologna, years after my trip to Bari.

References

1.      https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2016/03/armenopolis-romania.html

2.      https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-stone-to-turn-page.html

3.      https://liveingray.blogspot.com/2017/11/armenian-diaspora-salmon-syndrome.html