Tabs I Can't Close 51: Art, Strangers, a Motorcyle

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Meg Hitchcock

We don’t move like other people, I thought, and who is to say there are not things we have learned uniquely from our way of moving or being?

A reminder to consider truth in our striving for the Truth.

Her first stop would be Walmart, where she said Twombly liked to sit on a bench outside. “One of the most urbane, sophisticated humans alive, he would just sit there and watch the people come out and look at the mountains,” she said. “He was fascinated.”

Sisters, not twins

It was a sort of nowhere Utopia — a big, soft, stretchy packet of temporal freedom within which to be bored and idle and sleep late and watch reruns of “My Three Sons” and daytime talk shows and stare through the curtains out the window, and smell the curtains, which had a deep dusty smell, and learn one of the profound lessons of life, which is that all education is self-­education. Nobody needs you to do anything, so that anything you do has to come from yourself.

Locals warned her of being eaten by pumas or, worse, suggested her hunt was futile because the trees had been logged to make railway sleepers. But, as she approached the Cordillera de Nahuelbuta mountain range, the force of each rumour vanished. The forests existed, and were owned by two Irish men, who happily accompanied her there.  

Prepare to be disoriented, to take all sorts of wrong turns and find things you weren’t looking for. Surrender control.

It's a practice inspired partly by Oliver, a woman unafraid of the wilderness within herself. Each part of my life provided a respite from the other and gave me a sense of proportion that classmates trained only on law studies lacked. 

Good heavens.

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