No Words

Through the Lens of Bereaved Mother

I was traveling on business this weekend and managed to fit in a visit with an old friend in Nashville. It's clear that my new experiences are viewed through a new lens--the lens of a bereaved mother. In a walk through a park in downtown Nashville, where they had the replica of the Parthenon and other Nashville memorials, I remark that I'd like to walk back to the entrance of the park to take pictures of a statue. "Really, I don't think there's a statue there," my friend tells me. "It's a memorial and I'd like a picture," I insist. So, we drive back around to the entrance and she remarks about how many times she's been to this park and never noticed it before. But, for me, it seemed to clear why I not only noticed it, but needed to go there and take pictures to share with my fellow bereaved mothers--especially those of you who have lost your children in war.

I would have spent more time in some silence at this memorial and in reflection of those who are lost, but my friend doesn't have my lens and when I was done snapping pics, it was "OK, let's get some lunch." And it was OK, I don't expect others to join me in my way of seeing the world. I only wish to share those and have the opportunity to express them.

Images in Stone

There is something about sculpture that captures an essence of something that only three dimensions can do. And the nature of making an image stone and expressing an emotion or message through stone is, well, permanent. The stone makes us think it will be there forever, long past ourselves for others to come to know. Though the images do wear with the elements of water and air, the stone does its best not to disappoint those of us who rest our hands to draw out the essence of the living subject or the artist's love.

I have no story for the image below. It's a sculpture I saw in an artist's garden in a village in France. I wasn't able to climb through the fence and touch it, but I wanted to. The child is so peaceful and happy and resting and alive--that's what I think may be the story. I could imagine more, but I'll leave it at that--a child alive, sleeping peacefully with a mother watching lovingly.