Here, on a brilliantly lit summer day, Vasily Polenov is perched up on a bank, looking out at the Oka River. Tomorrow, we'll see his vision of the same river from an even higher angle. The Oka is in Central Russia and the largest right tributary of the Volga. It meanders through regions with wonderful names like Oryol, Tula, Kaluga, Moscow, Ryazan, Vladimir, Novgorod. There are twenty cities and towns found along the Oka. We see one of those towns far off downstream in the distance. Is that the church tower rising up?
Notice the sandy beach on the left where the current isn't as strong, and the long, grassy, sloped bank on the far side of the river. I like those young aspen and birch trees in the right front corner. Each leaf is on a long stem that allows the leaves to flutter with even a slight breeze. Sometimes the underneath of the aspen leaves appear silvery when that happens. Way off, above the small city, are some large areas without trees. Could the townspeople have chopped them all down? After heavy rains, a hill or mountain without trees can avalanche without soil-holding roots. Disastrous things can happen when we lose our nature-connection.
While there seems to be some fellow paddling around in the middle of the river, Polenov is in solitude while painting this river. There's no watching audience around him, no class of students trying to learn the tricks of the trade. He has his way of immersing himself in the beauty he sees; his own way of expressing it. He is invisible in this world before the all-seeing drones. In his book, The Center of All Beauty, Fenton Johnson dedicates a chapter to Bill Cunningham, a renowned on-the-street fashion photographer. He says of Mr. Cunningham:
"...a teacher opening our eyes to a way of looking at and being in the world — could originate only in someone who from earliest consciousness rehearsed being (to use his word) "invisible." And who is best at being invisible? The gay child, the abused child, the wounded child, the misfit, the outlier, the solitary."
We live in an extroverted country, but I still expect there's an invisible solitary in each of us. During Lent we might expend some effort to connect with that inner solitary — to bring him/her forward and to give voice. I have a friend who spends some time each winter day with binoculars watching and counting the many bird varieties at his backyard feeder. I know a woman who begins her day, before her husband is up and around, sitting by her back sliding doors with her tea, just looking out at the stream which leads down to the river. I knew a parishioner years ago who listened to Gregorian Chant on the train ride to work each morning.
Lang Elliott is a nature recordist who goes to solitary places — forests, fields, seashores — where he records the sounds of the wind, the water, the birds, insects and other animals. The link is called "Music of Nature." You can discover the recordings if you click on below. See what happens when you go to a solitary place.
