Notes from the Lighthouse

A line is a line is a line. Temporal lines speaking softly on cold white walls, gravity, the trembling soul of this body, awe when humbly I watch the Auroras dance in the January skies at Gardur. 

Wind like blue bricks, the delicate flow of water stains falling into obedient grids. Circles drawn on the lighthouse wall give geometric sign to the vast chaotic dark.

Sur le lien suivant, émission spéciale L’Impromptu au New Lighthouse…

http://radio-fmr.net/2014/01/30/18656/

CLICK ON PHOTOS:

Outside

Inside

 

 

 

Moved by the story of Icelantic fishermen, who went out in the raging icey sea to save Marines, I have marked 83 crosses in one of the spheres, painted on the lighthouse wall, counting and remembering each anonymous one of them.