The Weight of Stillness

Geologists often speak of deep time, a scale so vast it renders our human anxieties almost comical. If you stand long enough before a mountain, you begin to understand that stone is not static; it is merely moving at a pace our hearts cannot perceive. We are creatures of the frantic, the immediate, the ticking clock. We measure our lives in heartbeats and appointments, while the granite beneath our feet measures its existence in the slow retreat of glaciers and the patient carving of wind. There is a profound, almost heavy comfort in realizing that the earth does not share our hurry. It sits in the cold, dark water, indifferent to the seasons that pass over its crown. When we find ourselves in the presence of such ancient, unmoving things, we are forced to confront the brevity of our own breath. Does the mountain feel the weight of the snow, or is it simply holding the sky in place until we are ready to look up?

Barry Steven Greff has captured this quiet endurance in his work titled Rock Scenic. He invites us to stand at the edge of the water and listen to the silence of the stone. Does this stillness make you feel small, or does it offer you a place to finally rest?