Searching for the Pattern, Part I

Find beauty not only in the thing itself but in the pattern of the shadows,
the light and dark which that thing provides.
– Junichiro Tanizaki

At midnight Dec. 31, 2012 I fly over Artic islands and Ungava Bay into the New Year just before crossing the Atlantic on my way to Amsterdam. I marvel as we soar over vast northern regions, hurtling through the night sky. I imagine swirls of snow and flows of ice forming patterns down below. I stare at blue upholstered seats packed with passengers around me, row upon row, bin after overhead bin, and movie screen after movie screen all lined up for strategic viewing. It strikes me that patterns pervade (or invade) our lives. Not just visual patterns like rows of parked and logoed aircraft lined up at gates for loading, patterns that sparked this whole run of thought, but stock market patterns, flight patterns, weather patterns, holding patterns and complex patterns of behavior. I glance at the Moroccan designs on my hammered silver bangles, trace the threads of orange, and mauve, and Kelly green that weave an intricate pattern in my scarf, think of windblown grainy sections in the sand, and patterns formed by the North Sea’s churning fury as we fast approach. I love the starry constellations in the sky, and fall prey to the patterns on my I-Phone – apps all lined up in a chess game grid, smell the coffee in the stacks of paper cups scaled large to small along the bar, and hark back to the solid lines, the broken lines, the yellow lines of freeway that guided my speedy drive to the airport and wonder…

Are patterns an organizing principle or a cultural obsession? Do we seek them or do we find them – or do they come after us? I don’t consciously set out to locate a pattern, but I inevitably discover one – in collections of photos, groups of paintings, bodies of work, in the writings of my students, in the novels on my shelves, in the songs I listen to along the way, in the places I have been and the journeys I will take…

I’m not drawn to static patterns that never change no matter how they pretend to move. I’m not enamored with conforming patterns – ones that bind, nor the ones that never re-invent themselves. Give me abstract patterns, unpredictable or dynamic patterns – you could even entice me with a holding pattern full of pent up energy waiting to let go – and I would be engaged. You could repeat the details of a relentless quest or recite a mantra a thousand times as long as, Each repetition has a new meaning. (Mahatma Gandhi) But repetition because you can’t imagine an alternative is not a pattern I would choose. You might use this form of repetition as a cautionary tale against a life of boredom rather than succumbing to a practice of doing the same thing over and over again.

As my plane descends I ponder if you change just one element you disrupt the pattern. It takes just a minor alteration to make a shift. We touch down safely on the runway and ease up to the gate. I disembark, and head toward one of many silver carousels displaying piles of luggage at undetermined angles rolling by. I grab my suitcase; pass through rows of immigration booths and lines of people waiting to exit glass doors out into the glow of the New Year’s afternoon.

By the time I make my way into the center of the city, the last of the afternoon light disappears. The street lamps cast shadows that glisten on wet cobblestones, on bicycles stacked against railings, propped up on bridges, chained to posts. I gaze at the patterns of elongated windows and doors set high in rows of elegant 17C canal houses. I pass cafes alive with chatter and flowers shops full of spring colors that defy the damp chill of winter. I walk alongside canal after canal and shiny black painted door after door, until I reach the one I have come to enter. I look into the shadows and melt into the light. I think circles and reversals and wonder how I arrived here where I had been so many years before. I enter through the doorway into a dimly lighted hall and ascend the narrow stairs that spiral up.

And here begins another (overlapping) story for 2013…