In this role of lightbearer he is most definitely in hot pursuit of his own artistic quest, and follows no map. Yet he somehow always manages to bring back with him yet another jewel of a star back down to this troubled Earth, and the night seems glad for it. Only another small light in the darkness near the heart of this sprawling city, perhaps, one more unlikely drop of rich color from some greater rainbow.
But if that small light brings even a moment of delight to some weary traveler, or looks just right to a child far away from home who needs a little magic to hold on to, then it has well served its purpose.
Sometimes, a little light can make all the difference. Consider this hunk of stone that decorates the foot of the entry garden, just inside the Gate. A friend with a sharp eye who lives in the historic Bayshore Section of Miami (NE Miami, along the Biscayne corridor) chanced upon it and salvaged the piece from a jetty on to which it had been unceremoniously thrust decades ago:
It turns out to be an architectural rarity in a place with scant regard for its own history: the remains of a City park bench most likely enjoyed in the 1910's, bearing the original municipal logo. Not until darkness falls does it really reveal itself:
The lighting and its focus are constantly changing, for that is Alan's nature, and it is probably wise to avoid attachment to any particular configuration. That lesson does not come easily for me. Yet what I've learned time and again, is that "this is only the best it has been, so far." There is an inherent excitement to the new, and it always get richer, more fantastical, and, in some cases, simpler. Yet your breath may be taken away, and more than once.
They are constantly changing, for that is Alan's artistic nature. But they always get richer, and more fantastical, and, in some cases, more simple. Yet your breath may be taken away, and more than once.
Sweet dreams.







