+ 26 November 2009 +
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/26/opinion/26thur1.html
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
It Is Near 7am.
+ 24 November 2009 +
It is 7am. Or almost. The air temperature for this time of the year is approximately 43°. The sun is shining, it is late November and a relatively nice day. There is steam rising from the pool.
I often say “my favorite time to swim is January mornings and it is raining”.
January is six weeks away. But for now, I settle for a temperature in the low forties and the sun. The temperature of the water is certainly no more than twice that of the air. There is uncertainty here. What is the comfort level like in the water? For the inexperienced there is an unfair assumption. “It’s too cold for comfort.” For me, I don’t think about the comfort level. I just “do” it.
Here is the kicker: once you enter the water you do not want to leave. The water is an insular blanket (to me). The water, the pool and I converse with each other. The steam rises from the pool and I may not be able to see the opposite end of the pool. But who cares? One feels their way. The opposite end of this swim, this microcosmic road is out there. But it is the process, this journey that matters most to me. This process and its attached journey succeeds in engaging my mind and body to take on the day’s challenges. The steam evaporates just like negative thoughts and restlessness. Consequently, today’s distance swam and its set holds less significance.
For me an outdoor swim with an air temperature in the forties does not leave me in a state of discomfort. In fact I embrace the opportunity to swim outdoors. Add some rain and the air temperature decreases. I still embrace. Add some wind and the short walk across the pool after a morning swim may seem like eternity. “Walk, don’t run.” The embrace is still there. With wind and rain the embrace is mutually shared. In exchange, the layers of invigoration build upon themselves. The endorphins kick in. I feel ten feet tall. I feel symmetry. The frustrating maze of life seems temporarily dismantled. Does this swim feel better than having won the lottery? Does this swim feel better than love making? This is what it feels like at this hour of the day after a swim. I have been here before many times. So what else is new?
Rain or shine, it is all a bit of a mindset.
It is 7am. Or almost. The air temperature for this time of the year is approximately 43°. The sun is shining, it is late November and a relatively nice day. There is steam rising from the pool.
I often say “my favorite time to swim is January mornings and it is raining”.
January is six weeks away. But for now, I settle for a temperature in the low forties and the sun. The temperature of the water is certainly no more than twice that of the air. There is uncertainty here. What is the comfort level like in the water? For the inexperienced there is an unfair assumption. “It’s too cold for comfort.” For me, I don’t think about the comfort level. I just “do” it.
Here is the kicker: once you enter the water you do not want to leave. The water is an insular blanket (to me). The water, the pool and I converse with each other. The steam rises from the pool and I may not be able to see the opposite end of the pool. But who cares? One feels their way. The opposite end of this swim, this microcosmic road is out there. But it is the process, this journey that matters most to me. This process and its attached journey succeeds in engaging my mind and body to take on the day’s challenges. The steam evaporates just like negative thoughts and restlessness. Consequently, today’s distance swam and its set holds less significance.
For me an outdoor swim with an air temperature in the forties does not leave me in a state of discomfort. In fact I embrace the opportunity to swim outdoors. Add some rain and the air temperature decreases. I still embrace. Add some wind and the short walk across the pool after a morning swim may seem like eternity. “Walk, don’t run.” The embrace is still there. With wind and rain the embrace is mutually shared. In exchange, the layers of invigoration build upon themselves. The endorphins kick in. I feel ten feet tall. I feel symmetry. The frustrating maze of life seems temporarily dismantled. Does this swim feel better than having won the lottery? Does this swim feel better than love making? This is what it feels like at this hour of the day after a swim. I have been here before many times. So what else is new?
Rain or shine, it is all a bit of a mindset.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Déjà vu
+ 20 November 2009 +
This morning’s swim quickly took me back to that place and time in 2001 when the swimming drawings came into existence. Then, as was the case at 6:30 this morning under threatening skies I found myself responding to the minimalist environment of the pool. The tiles, the grid, the lane markers, all of the pool’s features exist on a quadrilateral grid. To look underwater towards the deep end of the pool I could see infinity as those darkened bands of tiles receeded into the distant, darker, deepest parts of the pool.
A confluence of eight years of incubating images accumulated inside my head. Curiosity, skill and the desire to visually record that which I saw and felt during a typical visit to the pool opened the door for the drawings’ emergence. Gradually those images began to see the light of day. In eight years’ time what has changed?
This pool, The Burlingame Aquatic Center in 2001 became my re-introduction to the world of Agnes Martin and Sol LeWitt and Minimalism.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The Hierarchy of Life
+ 19 November 2009 +
There seems to be no escape from it.
The John Cheever biography still setting on the living room coffee table; and Cheever's "The Brigadier and the Golf Widow", also on the coffee table, neither having been re-shelved. They are joined by "Children with Autism", the textbook from last year's Stanford University class.
There is the Lego thanksgiving turkey, a gift from an autistic child I taught swim lessons to in 2006. It is on the side desk in the office. Next to it are the numerous "swimmer" tree ornaments. Next to them is the microcassette recorder, a reminder of the Cheever inspired swimming trip I did in the fall, 2007. Everything on that recorder was now fully transcribed. Above my desk framed are two photographs I took on that trip: Simpkins Family Swim Center in Santa Cruz and the Paso Robles community pool.
On my desk there is my daily swim journal:
11.16.09
swim at Burlingame Aquatic Center (BAC)
6:30-7:30a
long course
clear skies, cool air temp, steam rising from the pool, could not see the opposite end of the pool due to the steam
the planes are landing at SFO
shared lane briefly
2000m freestyle
Next to that swimming journal is drawing "PR 253" (in progress) which is inspired by the 11.16.09 swim.
On the file cabinet is my three-ring binder, contents: Red Cross Water Safety Instruction materials.
In the bathroom hang a damp towel, jammers, goggles and cap from yesterday's swim lessons.
There is the time I spend at home, a reminder that my job as a swim instructor is seasonal. What's to be done about that? On my desk is a swimming-related job posting I responded to. What next?Next to that posting are the business cards of two Bay Area artists I met recently. The images on the cards are a photo of swimmers in a pool and a watercolor of two gentlemen standing next to a sailboat. Next to that are 100+ pages of writings by me about swimming, awaiting further editing and major revisions.
In my head there is the hierarchy of it all. Any regrets do I have? None at all. I still find time for my wife.
There seems to be no escape from it.
The John Cheever biography still setting on the living room coffee table; and Cheever's "The Brigadier and the Golf Widow", also on the coffee table, neither having been re-shelved. They are joined by "Children with Autism", the textbook from last year's Stanford University class.
There is the Lego thanksgiving turkey, a gift from an autistic child I taught swim lessons to in 2006. It is on the side desk in the office. Next to it are the numerous "swimmer" tree ornaments. Next to them is the microcassette recorder, a reminder of the Cheever inspired swimming trip I did in the fall, 2007. Everything on that recorder was now fully transcribed. Above my desk framed are two photographs I took on that trip: Simpkins Family Swim Center in Santa Cruz and the Paso Robles community pool.
On my desk there is my daily swim journal:
11.16.09
swim at Burlingame Aquatic Center (BAC)
6:30-7:30a
long course
clear skies, cool air temp, steam rising from the pool, could not see the opposite end of the pool due to the steam
the planes are landing at SFO
shared lane briefly
2000m freestyle
Next to that swimming journal is drawing "PR 253" (in progress) which is inspired by the 11.16.09 swim.
On the file cabinet is my three-ring binder, contents: Red Cross Water Safety Instruction materials.
In the bathroom hang a damp towel, jammers, goggles and cap from yesterday's swim lessons.
There is the time I spend at home, a reminder that my job as a swim instructor is seasonal. What's to be done about that? On my desk is a swimming-related job posting I responded to. What next?Next to that posting are the business cards of two Bay Area artists I met recently. The images on the cards are a photo of swimmers in a pool and a watercolor of two gentlemen standing next to a sailboat. Next to that are 100+ pages of writings by me about swimming, awaiting further editing and major revisions.
In my head there is the hierarchy of it all. Any regrets do I have? None at all. I still find time for my wife.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Beginning/Introduction
+ 18 November 2009 +
Swimming, drawing, writing, photographs, job security, the search continues for those elusive museums and galleries, John Cheever, children with autism, my role as an artist, teaching others how to swim, the creation of this blog and its introductory posting. This is the list that was buried inside my head when I woke up this morning. This list reveals much of whom I am and what I constantly think about. Welcome to one and all.
Those four lines represent a summation of what I intend for this blog to focus on. My experiences as a swimmer evolved and expanded over the years. And continue to do so. I foresee a similar future for this experimental swim blog project. Unlike many blogs out there which tend to focus on the organized, competitive and consumer aspects of swimming, I aim to present swimming as a journey in life. Mine. For that is what swimming has become for me.
Where this microcosmic (blog) swimming universe of mine takes me and interested blog readers, no one really knows for sure. Not even I. There is speculation. But in the opening moments of this new project of mine, restrained enthusiasm points to those first four lines of this introduction. Randomly I will provide expanded comments on those items on my list. And the best I can hope for is to find kindred spirits in the process.
Welcome.
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