Restare

Artist: monika larsen dennis Tags: permanent art

THE WARRIORS REST

Making wars for peace – making peace for war
Heroes – each according to his own measure
Protected, fought
Sometimes fell
Not rarely melted their happiness for others
Showed us the measure – brimful
The determined opposite of weathervanes
Intractable will, hidden courage
Not so neutral that they abstained
From doing everything in our place
Thus it is our debt
That the warrior may restBud, rebirth, ascending motion
And yet its opposite – spearhead for battle
The hardness that calls for softness
The softness founded on hardness
The obedience that harbours disobedience
A unity of opposites
The lotus reconciles the irreconcilableBody in human scale
But larger than life
Yet smaller than death
The tepid whiteness of Thassos marble
Offers cure and healing
The pale grey of the dust-embellished stage floor
A levitating bed for healing
Searching clarity and solace
Wanting to speak when there are no words
For the pain no thought can comprehend
Chased ceaselessly by yesterday’s shadowsA water-etched pattern – intarsia in rough flat concrete
Arabesques in matte-polished steel
The soft calligraphy written in the hardest of hard surfaces
The loop, ideal circle, orbit and cycle
Perfection – the signature of beauty
The grove of maple, beech and bird cherry
Engulfs us with the mitigating light of memory
Our overlapping hands prepared – to receive
Clouds sinking in water between the trees
Water echoing silence
White stone becomes air, air merges into bay
Speaks of the past as though it were now

Cavities, absence, loss
The immateriality of matter
Bowls of non-being
Concave faces, tear-shaped
The cool drops of space
Faceless faces
Unknown, they are I, you, we
The sleep of forgetting which is conquered
Face to face they become real

Sit down, see, beseech
Become part of the work’s battle against oblivion
Survival strategies, stand firm, stay behind
Restare, the road of self-preservation
Tentatively we try to solve the lotus shapes’
Circular inscription
The smooth white of marble, the rough grey of stage
Not a painting but a staired spatial image
Where warming light speaks an enfolding language
Smelling salts for numbed senses

Silence, devotional stillness
The warrior’s rest – a place for all.
We think dreams, sometimes dashed
Nebulas of memories that collide
Eroded sorrow turns into consolation

In the autumn, the tall tree trunks
Guards, watchmen of the peace
In the summer, the lush green of the grove
Sifted sunlight
In winter, cold white on lukewarm
A protective cover
In spring, delicate green lace veil wrapped
Around hibernated monument
At night, points of light under black sky
Never lonely darkness

In the shade sleeps the balminess of homecoming
The softening balm of ongoing
Above us, the roofless vault of sky
The soil under us, tuned to a minor key
Above, a rampart cast in concrete
In between a vertical volume of awaiting time
Ever watchful, eternally stalwart

The weakness of strength – the strength of weakness
Healing the unhealed wounds of memory
From the emptiness of absence
The faith in presence
Plans for endurance
For growth and survival
We must not be the last eye to expire
Extinguished

Memoria, the place, the grove
Words of memory, half-legible
The insufficiency of words in the face of antique stone
Space and air surrounding
A second of oblivion, of respite
Obstinate mourning
Memories forming into lips that seek
Your sleeping mouth
We remember our forgetfulness, it rouses our crying

Fire comes in return, as ashes
Obliteration – ghosts of life
The return of everything
Those who watched the coasts of steel and iron
Tried by icy winds and glowing heat
Warmed by camaraderie of team spirit
Marked by the harness of duty
Who travelled the earth and seas
Far from ancient Thassos
Often in the company of the sufferers’ darkness
Grappling with the risks of life
And forever near its own shores

Lars O Ericsson