Pierre Jardin gets his spiritual exercise by configuring and contemplating rocks. It stretches the folds of his mind and keeps his heart healthy and happy. It’s a practically priceless practice he has gaily deemed the daily lodestone download.
Aligned lines on large pebbles entrain the brain to board trains of thought, to track cryptic lightning circuits in silence.
Igneous corporal objects disingenuously bore cranial holes of ingenious torpor. Sinking into thinking caverns takes time to sink in. Linking in to the lithosphere is impelled in little inklings.
The earth writes its history in lithographic traces, taciturn testimonies to insensible temporalities. Following their own petrological predilections, these well-rounded bellwethers point pell-mell to a past hard to tell.
Back to basics: heat, pressure, and waves yield smooth, heavy stones. Force meets material in uncountable encounters; simplexes in complicity form complex simplicities; substances stutter and stylize into scripted shapes.
A new play emerges as Pierre’s stone stacks in Jardin’s garden impose an order. Gratified by gravity, the rocks remain restful, nestle onto one another; pestles that have taken a pounding, now at peace.
As long as stones stay up, lines line up. Precarious balance renders the stones precious.
The fleeting duration the stack is doomed to constitutes its own axial age. Ephemeral and evanescent, it becomes ethereal and luminescent.
The composition will decompose quickly, in stark counterbalance to the geological eons in which the rocks composed themselves into composure.
All stacks collapse. This law does not leave Pierre crestfallen; rockfalls are windfalls, not downfalls. A tumbled tower provides the cornerstone of a new configuration.
Jardin, a vigorous mortal warding off rigor mortis, one spiritual exercise at a time!