all things must pass

Today was the most extraordinary day.



First: I've been singing this song in my head all day - All Things Must Pass - ever since I saw the Martin Scorcese documentary on the BBC last night, part one, and tonight I will watch part two. George Harrison.. what can I say. He is such a part of my childhood - when my sister wanted to play Beatles with us, as kids (the way you played Beatles was, you pretended you were their girlfriends, with Barbie Dolls). My sister always wanted to be George's girlfriend, and I was thinking how much, as George got older, he started to look like her husband today.

And then, when my brother was still just a teenager, and a young man, he used to play piano duets with George Harrison, at a mutual friend's annual Thanksgiving party.. when he would tell me about it, like it was so normal, I wanted to say 'but you were just a baby - you weren't even born - and then, you KNEW him..'

And then, today was Remembrance Sunday.



I had my camera, and I have a very different post, of photos that I took during the ceremony. But then, before we went to the Gerhard Richter show at the Tate Modern - which I can't wait to go back to, and which has transformed how I am seeing right now, and inspired me to want to make giant paintings from my photographs - and, as we turned off Kensington High Street, where we had been part of the ceremony, we came upon a church, in a square. 'Can you smell the incense?' my husband whispered, as we passed, and I was taken by the light.

By a raybeam of light, on the church.



But he was looking inside. Quietly, he signalled me over, because this was sacred. 'It's like a painting,' he said. And I took this photo.



'No, I meant here.' And we stood together, bearing witness.



And then.. and then, that's when the magic happened. The tricks of the light.



I was captivated, shooting, thinking of the sacredness of it all - life - how we had just honoured the brave men and women who had fought in wars so that we could be here today, and all the people we had loved and who we have lost, but we haven't lost them, because they are with us, in our hearts.



And that's when I turned the corner, and maybe it's because of the atmospheric conditions, and how we had such a warm fall, but - miraculously - there were roses. Growing towards the light.




My father used to remind me, when I was dwelling on something or other, that it was important to never be too busy that you didn't have time to stop, and smell the flowers. And my mother always said to me, as her mother said to her: 'You never know what tomorrow will bring,' (so be present), and 'To thine own self, be true.'



And as I stood there and inhaled the most beautiful scent of these roses, I realised that I'd never see these particular flowers again. The next time I passed this church, they would be gone. All I had - all they had - was this moment, this gift.



That's all I meant to say.