A means can be justified only by its end. But the end in its turn needs to be justified.

So here we have an angry little baby in the foreground, and a toddler doing his best Olga Korbut impression in the background. For some reason, Henry seems compelled from some external force to forward roll, forward roll, forward roll! It matters not that there is a baby in front, a box of lego, an innocent father; the only thing that matters is the forward roll.

I sometimes wish that life were that simple for me.

Comments

Jim Klenke said…

At least hes going in the right direction, forward.

19 September 2008 at 12:27

KL said…

I think it has something to do with being young. I used to do those a lot and all those (I don't what they are called) cartwheeling on floor like the gymnasts do, and continued with them till like the age of 9 or 10. Everywhere I see children doing that. Perhaps something to do with our monkey and ape genes :-).

20 September 2008 at 06:31

freefalling said…

Henry might be interested in the variations of a somersault as outlined in Wikipedia.
Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing a photo of him attempting a "Flash Kick" - a back somersault with legs split to represent a 'kick') [not a recognized competition move]

20 September 2008 at 07:14

Kris McCracken said…

Jim, that is a good start.

KL, I was always very bad a cartwheels. It is amazing how little kids do play around exactly like monkeys!

FF, I think that I’ve seen one of them in Fame or Flashdance. Henry does own some leg warmers...

22 September 2008 at 15:38

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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