Basho's ven
etching
2006
Haiku, short and everlasting as the tide.
Reading this poem of my friend Rouke Broersma, I was totally schocked in the beginning. Sorrow, painted in the blackest black. But the humble kneeling for the flight of swans even on deadly water, changed me inside.
Love survives, whatever.
It mirrors itself in the surface of a pond. Just plunge the tip of your finger in it and wait. You'll see all imaginary things, or your own narcisme.
"Basho's ven" is just a mirror.
