I’ve been thinking of Robert Henri’s “sketch hunter,” how there are those who move through life as they find it, stopping for things they love and noting them in their sketchbook.
There’s a related maxim, oft-repeated and profound in its simplicity:
We are what we pay attention to.
While that might not be the goal of the sketch hunter, it’s likely the end product.
After college I hitchhiked, stopping on Captiva Island in the fall of ’74 to rest my feet and make a little money. Hired to work in the kitchen of the South Seas Plantation restaurant, I was soon moved to the maintenance department then to the marina where I met a retired couple from Boston, proud owners of a ’42 Grand Banks. The following March I signed on as the lone crew member for their month-long journey up the Intercostal Waterway. At the end of each day of our voyage we took shelter, nearly always at a first class marina.
The evenings went fast, with time for a fine meal but little else. Mr. Black - I don’t recall his first name - made his millions by abiding by a second oft-repeated maxim:
Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.
Every sunrise we picked up the mooring and were on our way, having learned little from the brief respite.
A week out of Ft. Lauderdale we took shelter on Hilton Head. The dock, the restaurant, and the shops adjacent were all I saw of the Island and for years when I heard mention of Hilton Head I saw only the Lighthouse.
Thirty years later I returned to Hilton Head - married with five kids. Our days were spent on the beach when we weren’t watching Harry Potter.
I preferred the early hours,
when few were out,
and day’s end.
The kids, particularly the four girls, were sun lovers.
We returned every summer for years, the image of the Lighthouse receding. The “reality” of Hilton Head became sea and sand.
And now I’m back with grandkids. Their reality having become mine.
Charlotte is a sun worshipper like her mother.
And Oliver,
well, Oliver is Oliver,
a jungle guide,
and a pilot,
who savors every bite of whatever experience comes his way.
It’s noon on our last day. As soon as Charlotte wakes from her nap we’ll head to the beach, my “reality” of Hilton Head redefined by this week’s images.
It’s interesting how images shape our reality. How a camera “deconstructs” it, offering new images by which it is “reconstructed”.
While not a maxim, Mary Oliver offered a poetic perspective, - her “path to heaven” . . .
is in the imagination
with which we perceive the world,
and in the gestures
with which we honor it.
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