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My creative hat…

July 7, 2008   //   by Chris Diedericks   //   2008 Madagascar  //  Comments Off

6 July – Today I wore my creative hat
Monday, July 7th, 2008

decoration.jpgAfter a great day of much needed rest I hit the streets just before sunset – the very best time of day for any photographer. Like in Morocco I find magic everywhere, even in the most mundane often overlooked moments. Despite my fever dreams I believe that I am getting better every day. I relentlessly look for new inspiration and find plenty…

I also keep on writing:

yl gedagtes vervrees
by die knak van
stingels lug

hortend
in my sagte slape
vasgepen

——————————-

ek twyfel
oor die sout
van my aarde

‘n god maak elders
ongeërg sy kwasse
in ‘n blou lug skoon

———————————

i must reinterpret
myself
all over
again

become a dull monument
of my own making
failed architect
of dreams

demolition now apparent
mere memory of
power
promise
beauty

replace
the monstrosity
with spiritual
architecture

i samson
to pull down
the first
pillar

——————————-

motorbike.jpgold-car.jpgtaxi.jpgwindow.jpggirl.jpgpainted-wall.jpg red-door.jpgsleeping-man.jpgsmiling-girl.jpgwoman-walking.jpg

Once again I am completely mesmerised by the incredible beauty in this extreme poverty. This is why I travel, explore new places…the inspiration and quiet miracles are just incredible…
scupture-1.jpgsculpture-2.jpg

…and the shadows we can never escape…
shadows-1.jpgshadow-2.jpgshadow-3.jpgblue-wall.jpg

One last day in the city of 1000 warriors the a flight to the small island on the east coast just off the mother island: St Marie. Here I intend to relax, draw, visit the only pirates’ cemetery in the world and hopefully sing with the whales when they arrive to give birth at this time of year.

Yet I remember:

you are the footprint
left in June

—-

ongetitled
Monday, July 7th, 2008

alleen
is die laslapsel
wat sonder versuim
versmoor

perfeksie
die kunsmatige reuk
van cheap wierook
wat almal
flous

jammer
die onmoontlikheid
van liggaam en siel
bymekaar hou

vir die laslapsel
waarin die hart versmoor
die wierook blus
is die garing op

—-

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