Tula Top

Portland, United States

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 20

Artist's Description

West Creek, Siouxon Creek Trail, Gifford Pinchot National Forest

Canon 5DII, 24-70mm f/2.8 II @ 57mm, CPL

In attempting to generate a title for this piece as well as a concept that would support it without sounding too hokey (I struggle just as the great David Murphy sometimes does), I was at a loss for quite some time. Something about this intimate little scene appealed to me enough that I obviously felt compelled to capture it, but I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it until now, and I certainly don’t expect it to appeal to too many others at least on a strictly aesthetic basis. After all, it’s just a bunch of rocks in the middle of a stream…what could be more mundane?

But as I sit here, somewhat dissatisfied with my body of work, feeling like a one-trick pony as of late with all my waterfall images (but in my defense, it has been oppressively cloudy here since summer ended last year, and only starting in the past week or two has the weather made inspiring mountain views possible again), I reflect upon the events of recent days. In a very brief time, I’ve had the honor and pleasure of conversing one-on-one (albeit through electronic means) with a few fellow RBers, and I’ve found myself profoundly moved and touched by each encounter. Life in the hospital has also been challenging, with the unfortunate adage of “Bad things happen to good people” being actualized far, far too often as of late. It’s all got me more pensive than usual, so I hope you’ll pardon me if I wax overly poetic, philosophical, or perhaps even a bit preachy from here on out (best to turn back now if you don’t care to ply the inner ramblings of a habitual procrastinator…I really should be studying for my board exam…).

The march of time is relentless (another “water is wet”-type of statement, I realize). I’m poignantly reminded of this every time I go in to work, trying to help patients of all ages as well as their loved ones cope with serious illness. Growth on physical grounds ends by our second or third decade (spare tires and expanding hindquarters notwithstanding), and from that time on we are constantly, sometimes mercilessly, buffeted by the winds of entropy. The slings and arrows (as per Shakespeare’s most famed soliloquy) of societal and natural forces wear us down, bestowing upon us lines that streak our faces and silver hairs that adorn our heads (or perhaps fewer and fewer hairs to turn silver in the first place) far sooner than any of us ever feel prepared for.

We thus often falsely envision ourselves, as time goes on and we suddenly catch a glimpse of our ‘prime’ selves in the rearview mirror, as something less than the persons we once were. Our physical integrity and value to society is a thing of the past, because our knees creak in protest upon rising, our memories are ever-resistant to being jogged, and mass media reminds us of this with every flip of the channel or magazine page showcasing the seemingly limitless exuberance of youth and nubility (and there’s absolutely nothing inherently wrong with that, but there’s no semblance of balance when it comes to valuing our more senior citizens, at least here in the States).

But to whatever degree of dilapidation that time manifests in us outwardly, it will always afford us inwardly the opportunity for growth. Not everyone seizes it fully—perhaps by fault of unfortunate genomic substrate or of insurmountably toxic environs (we are human, after all)—but the strength and endurance of the human spirit has the capacity to factor a reciprocal into the time equation such that we can remain one with ourselves throughout our lives, and, in the best of circumstances, even exceed what we once were. I suppose the most succinct word for it would be wisdom.

In the same manner that water weathers stone over time, smoothing away the rough-hewn edges and pockmarked surfaces it possessed when first exposed to the light of day, so too does time refine us, shape us, give us character. And just as the sediment that is begotten is carried downstream to build the foundation of silt and sandbars upon which life can further propagate, so too is wisdom passed on and a legacy left behind.

I think I’ve come to know a fair number of you on a deeper level than electrons and data bits might suggest possible, perhaps through direct conversation in bubblemails or comments or simply through the meaning passionately conveyed in your work. You teach me, inspire me, instill me with the desire to exceed what I’ve done before, what I’ve been before. I know, I know…it’s just a website about visual and written art; why, as the great Joker once posed, so serious? Because for me it’s also a means of sharing our interpretations of the world both around and within us, a sort of affirmation of our sensate, social, and spiritual existences.

With all that said, thank you immensely for still reading if you’ve come this far…and sincere apologies if the sheer effort of it’s somehow left you with an impression of your keyboard across your forehead. Please know that you’ve likewise left an impression on me, but one that is indelibly and undeniably positive and energizing, and I hope in some form or fashion I’m able to reciprocate down the road.

Thank you and warmest regards,


Artwork Comments

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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