Goose or Orb?

Fun images – not because they’re great photography, but because they were such a surprise. They were taken last weekend while my husband and I wandered the grounds of the Chattahoochee Nature Center happily snapping pictures: ferns in the woods – snap, snap; trees by the lake – snap, snap; geese on a log – snap, snap. Basic amateur nature shots. However, by the time I got home the geese had somehow magically transformed inside the camera. Way Cool! The birds and their reflections became fat globes balancing precariously on sticks. Colors became shapes. The background had blended itself into a wash of subtle glazes.

Many years ago I read a book by Rudolf Arnheim called Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye. It’s been so long now that the only thing about the book that I remember is a quote from the first few pages. It described how we see an object. Arnheim wrote, “…in looking at an object, we reach out for it. With an invisible finger we move through the space around us, go out to the distant places where things are found, touch them, catch them, scan their surface, trace their borders, explore their texture. Perceiving shapes is an eminently active occupation.” I think we must do this without realizing it. I certainly saw birds, but maybe my mind was also busy tracing, exploring and scanning those big balls of feathers. But then, maybe I just got lucky.

Everyone Needs a Gila Monster

The Gila monster was staring at me again this morning. Not a real one of course. He’s plastic – black and orange striped with pebbly skin. The five toes on each foot splay out as if trying to clutch the slippery countertop. An open mouth reveals two rows of menacing white teeth and appears ready to bite unsuspecting fingers. It never fails to make me smile.

I first encountered the creature while I was living with my sister some nine years ago. Her son, who was four years old at the time, had placed it in my bathroom, on the back of the toilet tank, as a scary surprise. When I found it hiding behind a basket filled with cosmetics I laughed and praised my nephew for being so sneaky. The toilet tank became its new home.

I never thought I’d have trouble with that Gila monster until one evening, when I noticed a small pile of red powder on the floor. Nothing else was askew. It was obvious to me that the basket had been knocked over and blush had come tumbling out and scattered on the floor. Since my nephew was in the habit of stopping by my bathroom whenever the need arose, he was my prime suspect, and I headed up to his room for a full confession. He was stretched out on the bed waiting for sleep to overtake him and grinned when I came into the room. I knelt down and explained the problem and asked point blank if he had accidentally knocked over the basket. To my surprise, my nephew calmly but stubbornly replied, “No. It’s not my fault. The basket was too close to the edge and the lizard pushed it over. I picked everything up because I knew you’d like that.” Dumbfounded by his answer, there was nothing to be said but “Thank you,” and I proceeded back downstairs to discuss the issue with the lizard.

I saw no flicker of untruth in my nephew’s eyes. I didn’t even feel fibbed to. I simply had been given a different viewpoint on the situation, one that never would have occurred to me. My nephew is now 13 years old and I have since moved to a new home ten minutes down the road. The plastic lizard moved with me and continues to hang out in my bathroom. I think we all need a Gila monster to help keep our perspectives fresh.

The Secret Garden

I have a small, hidden garden behind a tall row of virburnum, abelia, and holly bushes. To enter the area you must cross over a plush expanse of well-manicured lawn through a narrow opening. A few flat stepping stones mark the trail in. An angel points the way. During the winter this quiet little space lies fallow, covered with leafy debris and bits of twigs. A few determined ferns assert their brown and broken tips through the litter. The trail is difficult to follow. It’s easy to stumble over the sleeping tree roots and loosely scattered rocks all resting quietly, waiting for the spring that is sure to come. A small breeze ruffles the few leaves left in the trees. It is a perfect place to listen for God.

Welcome to my new blog. I hope you will visit often.

Ellen Bateman Bulterman