Snippets of Sunday

After mass on Sunday, I took a leisurely walk down Central.

A man working hard, packing and unpacking, apparently enclosed within a metal frame. Is the frame metallic or biologic?


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A sikh, his head bound tightly by a turban. Bound by a turban? Or by the prison of tradition?

Everything else seems also enclosed within artificial boundaries, whether rectangles, parallelograms or trapezia. The sky is reduced to a mere reflection upon a tiny corner of the window.




Protection against the elements? Or against the vagaries of economics? Whatever the true cause may be, all lines and shapes have become contorted, distorted and  twisted.

Straight lines are no longer straight lines. Nor circles circles.

The trees however care nothing about breaking the smoothness of our curves or the rationality of our straight lines with which we hope to tame the world.

Nor the double rings of our art wrought in metal.





We have sought to replace the fluidity of our seas with these massive girders of our strength.

But everywhere, we are careful to keep out our own kind with barriers. Bits of plastic seem sufficient for such purposes. What does that tell about ourselves?

Bricks being delivered to the mouths of two huge pipes. Bricks to build barriers and pipes to connect?

Getting hot. Better move indoor. It's become an unthinking  "civilized" instinct now. I wonder how it would look without the flowers.

 Ah, the latest from the fashion capital of the world, selling illusions in fabrics.

Bags for picking up the knitting kits. Done so "casually", so "naturally". It's easy. Just buy. And pay!

We sell dreams, glittering in cheap  bits of galvanized metal or bits of color mixed with metallic dust. It's Christmas! A n opportunity in gold to clear slow moving stocks. What do we care about what the word "Christ" in Christmas means?  Consumption, consumption and more consumption. An ecstasy, a delirium in which more means better.

See ? A gift box galore! With nothing but air inside!

Simulations of birds swooping down towards the celebration of consumption, the crown prince of the flow of production. The logic is simple: no consumption, no production. But I couldn't bring myself to remain long inside. I need fresh air.

Some shape,  some shades and some shadows. Finally, a clear sky, plenty of sunshine and a bit of bracing sea air!

As the sun moves across the sky, slowly changing patterns are created  on the ground.

The buildings across the harbour take on a golden sheen in the afternoon sun.

Felt so good to be bathed in this evening gold after that wonderful concert.