Well . . . ? Is it spring or not? I have to ask myself when I ride my bike out in the country and notice blossoms drifting off trees in February and I can't help but wonder if all this warm weather is going to confuse the trees as much as it's confusing me? Will there be blossoms left when they're supposed to be here? In April/May? I haven't moved to another part of the country or world and I have certain expectations about what spring will bring here in California. So what? Is there nothing left to count on?
What I can count on? Not so much, maybe--except that I've always gone back to one thing and it's always been there for me. Art. Or maybe I should say my relationship to art. Even if I'm not making art, I need it around me. Pictures satisfy me. Disturb me, yes, and they should. Inspire me, sometimes. When I look at certain drawings or paintings--and I mean really look at them and see them--it's like my soul exhales. Mostly it's powerful color combinations and interactions that do this, but here's a B&W picture by T.H.Benton that does it as well--both because of subject matter and composition. Sometimes when I look at his work I notice my body swaying with the movement of his lines. Pretty cool thing.
So there's a constant.
Another constant is the way I feel when I go into the woods to visit old crone redwoods. Pogonip in Santa Cruz . I suggest you try it sometime. There's a good path that takes you through redwoods, across a meadow and past an old polo ground. Not for bikes--only boots. And a walking stick if you're like me and your knees need a little support down the hills.
Or you can find your epicenter at Nicene Marks. Some places are for bikes and others are for boots. Who knows--a trip there might help if you have constancy issues. Maybe it'll feel okay that things aren't supposed to be constant.