This little painting's gorgeous; but I'd like to say more.
Some years ago, BBC Radio broadcast a series of weekly programmes by a great indophile, Mark Tulley. India has a whole world of intuitive and feeling knowledge. The series was called, simply, brilliantly, 'Something Understood'.
I couple this recollection with the currently much discussed 'Aha Moment'. To scientists and thinkers it's 'the moment of discovery', to others, a moment when true wisdom is gained. It can be a huge, serious, life-changing moment, or it can be tiny, simple—or even just deliciously funny I have to say, as my memory kindly thrusts the Pythons' Fish-slapping Dance into my head! Whatever, it's amazing.
Julian produces his own lovely examples of Something Understood; something truly understood. His is a disciplined, dedicated meditation. Ours is the privilege of a stream of exquisite, Aha Moments.
But there's something else. It's not like occasionally popping into a gallery for a quick aha and a postcard to remember it by. Julian has set up a unique system whereby he permits his world-wide audience almost daily access to the results of his long hours on duty.
Since it's generally agreed that aha moments occur more frequently to those who are prepared to receive them, Julian's audience must surely, have accumulated a sufficient number to change the world about them.
But how can an artist who chooses to present his work, daily, to a silent world, feel the impact he makes? Indeed, since his chosen Something is so palpably Understood—there doesn't seem much that most people can say that doesn't risk sounding trite. Ironically, when such an aha is a daily gift from another it seems it might produce an apparently thankless Cordelia moment in return!
So Julian, though I can still say nothing but (silently, to myself) just 'Aha!' I'm pretty sure your reaction won't be in any way Lear-like, but, just to make sure, I will add a genuine—serial—thank you.
Like a huge drift of butterflies—manifestations of nature's own realization of itself—I sense grateful ahas all around. Perhaps one day a few more might just alight on your screen… Gecko.
I know exactly what "Gecko" means. When I clicked open THE PEAR I had an AHA!!! moment. Thank you, Julian, for that. Once, when walking up to the Sacre-Coeur, Ernest bought a pear and ate it right then and there. He called it his "Platonic pear." He's been looking for another one ever since. Yours is MY "Platonic pear."
This red cathedral top-full of hidebound parishioners,radiates: they wait desperately for a divine sign; And yet,the leaning arrow of the church is showing them the way. And yet,the white candles are pulling out of all the stops.Please,open the eyes!
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