08 October 2006

calgary bay

from my new york apartment, recalling these events on mull seems like recalling a dream. yet it was not a dream (i have witnesses), and its impact continues to inform what joyce so precisely calls “the smithy of my soul.” as a matter of fact, most of the time on mull, i kept thinking about the earth at its unspoiled beginnings, which indeed rendered my own beginnings more stark in relief, now in harmony with the gulls and the crabs, the beach and the rocks and the sea, indeed, a blooming into some sort of remembered existence i had forgotten. or at least left behind.

on the way to calgary, we stopped at dervaig to see the mull little theatre, which lindsay had often talked of visiting. we had just missed their last performance by days, and now the theatre was closed as such, with plans to re-build another, larger facility. the end of an era. oh but what a lovely little wooden structure it is. impressive in its simplicity, though i neglected to photograph it (why is that?), this building reminded me of the something original i had first envisioned when embarking on things theatrical, almost out of ancient greece, evocative and singular, magical and real. no wonder i couldn’t photograph it.

we checked into the most elegant hotel i have yet to visit, with its whitewashed walls, its cozy rooms and hallways and the sudden delight of a small detail like a handcrafted light fixture or candlestick, or a pine-paneled shower that brings in the whole outdoors, much the same way the deep window sills and french windows bring the mull sky right into the room.


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