samovar

Like a painter whose works over time may begin as representational and then slowly segue back and back and back in future works until nothing is left but a single brush stroke, I wonder if all those interested in the arts or life don't do much the same ... back and back and back until a single ball on green baize is all that there is to indicate the symphonies and intricacies of a billiards match.

The word "samovar" crept into my head today and lingered like a peppermint lozenge. Even as the implications and associations of the word rose up dancing in my mind, still I did not want to give them force or favor. "Samovar" -- that was enough, if not too much.

The wolves, the tundra, the tall hats, the cold, the warmth of friendship, the romance, the tall actions and embroidered gowns ... no, none of that. Just "samovar."

The singularity may be annoying -- art, after all, is said to 'communicate' -- but still, the travel back and back and back seems inevitable. Back to a place where all things communicate by nature and defy the blather of "communication."

Anyway... for the moment ... samovar.