Thursday, August 11, 2016

SHIFTING AESTHETICS



I don't know why I find myself attracted to old, abandoned houses, but I do. Perhaps it's my admiration for the wabi-sabi aesthetic of finding beauty in what architect Leonard Koren has described as things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. There may also be something else at work here — a sense of profound sadness that these myriad decaying structures once sheltered people with hope, unnoticed dreamers who struggled valiantly but finally succumbed to the harsh realities of life. Whatever the case, I look upon these old places much as William Carlos Williams does in his nostalgic poem Pastoral (When I Was Younger).  I continue to find beauty in whatever life remains,  whether it be the "properly weathered" colors of old wood or the changing angles of a leaking roof that will surely collapse in time, but which is holding its own today.  As Williams concludes in his poem, these things may not be "of vast import to the nation," but they always deserve our attention, for they remind us that most things — even our own lives — continue to yield beauty, even as they surrender to the ravages of time.



                                          Pastoral (When I was younger)
                                               by William Carlos Williams


                                              When I was younger
                                              it was plain to me
                                              I must make something of myself.
                                              Older now
                                              I walk back streets
                                              admiring the houses
                                              of the very poor:
                                              roof out of line with sides
                                              the yards cluttered
                                              with old chicken wire, ashes,
                                              furniture gone wrong:
                                              the fences and the outhouses
                                              built of barrel staves
                                              and parts of boxes, all,
                                              if I am fortunate, 
                                              smeared a bluish green
                                              that properly weathered
                                              pleases me best of all colors.
                                              No one
                                              will believe this
                                              of vast import to the nation.


From The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams: 1909-1939



16 comments:

  1. They speak to us, if we but take the time to listen.
    Beautiful post, George.

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    1. Thanks for your lovely comment, Laura. Yes, taking the time to listen — that's the key.

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  2. I have always liked William Carlos Williams' poetry. I can't work out how he does it, he just creates a distinctive music with his irregular lines. It sounds so good I have to force myself to give the meaning proper attention!

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  3. Thanks, Dominic. I also like Williams' poetry, which always appears simpler than it is. He's very good at inviting us to discover the extraordinary in things usually considered as ordinary.

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  4. I also love dilapidated buildings, especially old farmsteads. They are rich with history and deserve our admiration for all they represent. I've long held a fantasy of all the old farms magically rebuilding themselves board by board until they stand in all their original strength with families creating their lives among them. But, time marches on and I suppose I should move with it, always open to new ideas and ways of being. A lovely, thoughtful post.

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    1. Thanks for your lovely comment, Teresa. Glad you liked this posting.

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  5. I'm reminded of the Romantics, and their penchant for ruins - and Tintern Abbey, immortalised by Wordsworth, which you passed on your Offa's Dyke trek...

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    1. Thanks, Robert. I must say, however, that the ruins of Tintern Abbey have a considerable edge on those in my header photo.

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    2. Mmm... Just a question of perspective, I think, George!

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  6. I seem to be more and more attracted to the ramshackle and tumbledown as I become more rickety and decrepit myself! This may not be of vast importance to the nation but it interests me.

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    1. I'm with you 100%, John, and your comment helped me start off my day with a good laugh!

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  7. Hi George, I remember reading this post and commenting on it. Who knows what happened? We've been having Internnet problems. Weathered wood and ramshakle stuctures have such character. They seem full of stories. The stark skull in the second photo draws my attention. The remains of a once-living thing on the remains of a structure. Have a good holiday weekend George.

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  8. Many thanks for your comment, Barb. Don't know what happened to the earlier comment, but, as you know, things often get lost in cyberspace. Yes, like you, I can't seem to look at an old, abandoned structure without thinking of the vibrant life that must have once inhabited the place. It's always a reminder that everything, including our own lives, is transitory, which is the best reason I can think of to make the most of every moment. Have a great weekend yourself!

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  9. Lovely poem, thank you for posting it, I hadn't read it before. I have also enjoyed wabi-sabi before I knew it had a name. Cluttered and dilapidated small areas around houses in Albania, that's what comes to mind for me.

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    1. Thanks, Morelle. Glad you liked this post. I, too, enjoyed wabi-sabi before I discovered it has a name. I wonder if there is something instinctive about this, something comforting in being reminded that nothing is truly perfect, that nothing is truly complete, and that all things, our lives included are subject to the laws of entropy.

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