Richard in Noodjwick. I know that I'm in the middle of the Lost Summer Sketchbook series, but Richard just sent me this picture. I had forgotten what it looked like. And honestly, the story is just too crazy to pass up.
It was April, 2007. I hadn't talked to anyone in three dark London months. So, when spring came, back to Amsterdam I went. Actually, Amsterdam was just an aside for a few days until I caught a plane to Barcelona. Or so I thought...
Let's just say that:
a) I never went to Barcelona. Instead, I spent two weeks chillin on the back porch of a surf spot in Noodjwick talking to some of the coolest people ever (all detailed in my sketchbook, "The Necklace"). One of whom was Richard. Don't ask about the night Richard, Buddy (the only nineteen year old fisherman from Alazka I've ever met), and I had our own collectively seperate adventures...
b) From New Zealand, Richard just happened to be walking down the street in Cheshunt a few weeks later, the very same night I met Maria. He had just moved to London. Needless to say, several adventures ensued (including my introduction to Mexico City).
c) As I just re-discovered this drawing, I just happened to be listening to the Manu Chao song that kept playing over and over during the entire two weeks.
Hmm. Coincidence? Or, a confluence of events that makes me shudder in the shadow of it's significance...
Richard in Noodjwick
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
so wonderful how coincidence of intense memory can form this feeling of union between times. Like echos or octaves of thunder, ripples from the same pebble thrown. The experience with which you associate this moment is just as real as a small rock that makes waves, waves in the medium of experiences instead of water. When will be the next time you are so strongly reminded of that time, how much less intense is every echo.
Post a Comment