Memories of a Landscape

Wednesday, June 01, 2005 | 0 comments

by

Raania Durrani

Extracts from a larger body of work produced in Bennington, Vermont 2002/2003

October 7th 2002 — Metaphor and Meaning in landscape

The landscape develops and is related to the movement of those who inhabit it. Landscape is a visual documentation of lives. Lives develop and are related to the formation of the land. The jelly in the bowl contracts and expands the way I ask it to. My movement dominates its form. The landscape is the jelly in the bowl. It has been walked and lived on for time that cannot be summed up in words. The weight of the life on the landscape tells it where to rise and where to drop. Life and landscape, movement and colour, scale, size and structure — are all related.

There the mountains were not part of the terrain; they were simply the terrain. That is the place where the landscape is so overpowering that sometimes the life on the landscape is ignored. But the life there is simply incredible. The landscape so large and frightfully vertical makes the people and the green bow down in modesty. Life is warm, inviting and so mystical. The landscape hides the secrets of the people. Embraces their belief and provides them shelter to protect their simplicity from exploitation.

The mountain though large and powerful is accepting; finding spaces and making way to integrate. The river that runs through its gaps and the highway that flows around its mass— are all examples of its nature. The mountain so high, and so above everything is still humble. It is afraid to touch the sky, grab the stars or kiss the moon. It just sits below the blue enormous mass, a mass more enormous than itself. It is like watching the two fall in love over and over again. In the day the mountain blushes in the heat of the sun, accepting and reflecting. The wind blows each cloud into the mountain attempting to shyly touch its white body. The whole day — the sky and mountain play these games. At night the moon and stars caress the tiniest crevices of the mountain with their soft light. At night the heat calms down, and they sit all night realizing their love. The mountain and the sky are the kind for who future emerges in the night. Their romance touches the landscape and serves the people, changing their lives, evoking love in them and the patience to appreciate and adore. The mountain in the day is confidence and inspiration for its people. At night it is the once who keeps their secrets.

October 8th 2002 — Memories of the Morning

Something about the air this morning reminded me of Hunza. The mid-morning air on a fall day in Vermont made me think of the early morning of a summer day in the Karakorams.

A clear image came to mind. I thought of when I would wake up early morning in Karimabad, and come out of my room wrapped in a warm shawl. Before me would be a wall, an incredible wall. It was lit up by mustard sunshine, which was purified by the snow-capped peaks that it would reflect on. Then the sweet Hunzai man, who had a mustache, would walk down the terrace stairs. He would smile at me, and greet me with the genuine, 'peace be on you'. He would then ask me what I would like for breakfast.Few minutes later, he would come back with cooked milk tea in a kettle, accompanied by a Hunza version of the Pakistani Omelette.

The Hunza food is as simple and uncomplicated as the Hunzai people are. As I would eat, I would watch the mustard light grow stronger on the seven thousand-meter mountains before me. I would watch the mountain as if it were a painting. A painting of many colours and many details. Or like a sculpture of many angles, and several tool marks. How landscape is pure art would amaze me — how no colour combination in landscape are wrong would challenge my mind. How the creator is the artist would make me feel humble and shy. All my efforts to art and aesthetics are so small, I thought. But each morning as I stared and felt the crisp air on my ears and cheeks, I thanked the creator for giving me the senses to be overwhelmed by his creation.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005 | permalink | 0 comments

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