The Restory is a Retreat Centre nestled against Tafelkop, a singular mountain head near Wakkerstroom, South Africa. Here we live a simple life as contemplatives.
It is a place of re-connection: with ourselves, people, Nature, Silence and Creativity. Our retreats are aimed at this. Our conversations, writing and art centre around the univocity of life. We need a place that reminds us that we are all one. The Restory hopes to be such a place and space.
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Vanuit Die Restory - Gesprekke Tussen Reisgenote (222)
Vanaf hierdie week se bloginskrywing bring ons 'n nuwe faset by - iets kreatiefs in watter vorm ook al, wat sonder woorde uitdrukking aan die tema gee.
Hierdie week is dit die bekende skildery van Joseph Turner, "The Fighting Temeraire" (1838).
’n Ou, glorieryke hout-oorlogskip (die Temeraire, wat nog in die Slag van Trafalgar geveg het) word teen ’n sonsondergang weggesleep deur ’n klein, swart, rokende stoom-sleepboot om opgebreek te word.
Dit is seker die beroemdste visuele metafoor vir die oorgang van die ou, handgemaakte, windgedrewe wêreld na die koue, doeltreffende masjien-era. Die stoomboot gee nie om vir die geskiedenis of die skoonheid van die houtskip nie; dit is bloot doeltreffend.
Die woord Temeraire beteken letterlik "die een wat dit waag" of "die onverskrokke een" (van die Franse téméraire). En die skip het haar naam herhaaldelik eer aangedoen; in die Slag van Trafalgar het sy herhaaldelik in die hewigste gevegte ingevaar om ander skepe te red. Sy was die toppunt van menslike dapperheid, hout-vakmanskap en die kuns om die wind te benut.
Maar in Turner se skildery is daar niks meer "veglustig" of "onverskrokke" aan haar nie. Die groot, magtige oorlogskip wat eens die lot van nasies bepaal het, is nou heeltemal magteloos. Sy kan nie eens op haar eie stoom (of wind) beweeg nie. Sy word soos ’n gedwonge gevangene na haar eie teregstelling gesleep deur ’n masjien wat skaars ’n fraksie van haar grootte is. Die ridderskap van die ou dae is verby. Die nuwe wêreld veg met koue, meganiese doeltreffendheid. Die swart stoomboot veg nie teen die golwe of die vyand nie; dit ignoreer bloot die wind en die stroom deur brute, berekende krag.
Turner het daardie ironie meesterlik met sy lig gevang. Die trotse ou skip lyk amper soos ’n spook – wit, lig en deursigtig, reeds halfpad deel van die geesteswêreld – terwyl die klein swart sleepboot donker, solied en onsimpatiek die nuwe era inbreek.
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Vir die onvolmaakte, gebroke menslike - wie anders as onse Leonard?
Drawing by Ron Leishman When last did you whistle while working? When last did you hear someone else whistle while working? Somehow it bothers me that whistling has become an almost absent element in our work. The sound of a person whistling a tune while busy somewhere in the house or out in the workshop conveys something of an underlying happiness, satisfaction and contentment. An enjoyment of the work itself. The tune need not be flawless. Applying more air than sound won’t lead to disqualification, as long as the intention is there. Whistling can even be replaced by singing in all that I’ve said up to now. The same principles apply. The absence of any of these two activities bothers me because it says something about us doing the work and the type of work that we do. Can it be that our type of labour in this 21 st century is not conducive to either whistling or singing? What type of work is that then – draining, stressful, pressured? Or are our conclusions ...
As Matilda has already indicated, one of the most difficult things to do after you’ve visited a country is to return and convey something of what you’ve experienced. How do you show a city’s many faces, introduce its inhabitants? How do you tell of the effects a history has on people and of a stance towards life that can actually not be translated into words? In the case of Prague, it is very helpful to have someone like Jara Cimrman. ~ ~ v ~ ~ Petrin Hill, on the left bank of the river Vltava running through Prague, is in many ways a site worth visiting. Climbing the 299 steps of the Petrin Tower, inspired by the Eiffel Tower, gives you one of the most beautiful views of the city. But by going down into its basement, you enter into the psyche of the Czech people. Here, quite unobtrusively, is the museum for the “ Genius, who has not become famous ”. Matilda and I almost stumbled onto it by chance and as we went through the exhibition, our amazement over this brilliant ...
This morning I was out in the vegetable garden looking for signs of sprouting cabbage and spinach that we had sown a week ago. Among the weeds, I did find the tiny seedlings pushing through bravely, but I had a surprise coming. The young Zulu gardener drew my attention to an abundance of ready food growing in the ruins of the tiny stone cottage only meters away: Umbido, a type of wild spinach, and a staple food in the rural areas. I grew up with much the same in the northern parts of the country, but called Marogo in the Sotho language. Enter my new helper and friend, Winnie Nkosi. She lives on the edge of the Zaaihoekdam in a traditional mud house with no electricity. Twice a week she walks the four odd kilometres to help me with all things domestic. She has also taken it upon herself to teach me the Zulu language and culture with optimistic determination. The planned lunch menu was immediately ditched in favour of a lesson in local cooking and Winnie showed me the differenc...
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