Swaying Masts and Rugged Coasts

Savannah Polaroids

Andrew Tipton

Just the Ripples

I took a solo trek into the Little River Canyon this week.. to get some inspiration, and for the sunrise. The sunrise there is so beautiful because it happens incredibly slowly.. filtering in through the leaves, the sun comes to the river stone by stone. I woke up well before dawn.. started hiking down the gorge, just so I'd be sure to be there when it arrived.

I met a man named Kyle the night before, right at dusk as I was packing up my books and my wine about to hike out of the valley. I was taking one last look at the river when Kyle walked up smiling and sat down beside me. He was heavyset, southern drawl, sandy brown hair. He asked me my name, and asked if I wanted to hear some stories about this place.. I said yes!
For the next hour Kyle told me about the river.
He told me about coming here as a child, before anyone knew how beautiful this valley was. He told me about diving into the water during a thunderstorm.. how it felt to be alone with the river and the pouring rain. He told me about how life changes.. how people change.. how places change.
He told me, "You can see all the beauty in the world just in the ripples".
I laughed.. I told him that was such a true thing to say,.. and then he laughed.
He offered me some "Early Times" whiskey straight from the bottle.. I accepted. We shook hands.. and I was on my way.






Andrew Tipton

Rebelious October

Spend. Life.

Strokes, left. Strokes, right.

Across a sea, a lake, an ocean.

Bow of canoe, inside a kite; blue sky, pusuit of motion.

Swim with horses; Off your knees.

Chase golden streaks through bamboo leaves.

Cannot retame an open mind.

Reclaimed; spirit of childhood time.

October blue, rebelious.





Andrew Tipton

Camden, Saturday

I woke up to rain. Gently drumming across the roof of the van, the slow lullaby - the edgeless whisper of drops drawing me out of my dreams.
Gray, glassy, blurring - shimmering across the cresting waves, clinging to the sides of the sailboats' sheets, wet across my eyelashes. My skin feels cold and tight, I slide on my jeans and pull my tussled hair back out of my eyes. This is quite.. the quite of a morning that doesn't quite want to come yet.
Thirst runs through me - I lay back onto the plush crimson seats and wonder if the rain outside is trying to find my hot mouth.
I think of the huge boats outside, the heaviness of the anchor, my bare feet clinging to the wooden deck, climbing up up up through the ropes - escaping the horizon.
My horizon.. the place between the depths and the heights of my soul.
My imagination is interrupted by the melodies of wind chimes. I sit up and run my hands around the back of my neck. This does not seem like a day, but rather an endless early morning - an anomaly where time does not exist, and where I have the ability to think about anything I want, for as long as I want: free from the limitations of a clock.
Gray, glassy, blurring, silent, untouchable. The perfect place for wonder.








(Andrew Tipton)

Painting Waves

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

Fight club

Standing in front of the canvas.. I stare blankly at the paintbrush clenched between my fingers. Drops of indigo blue splatter on a khaki-gold background. Afternoon sunshine beams through the open windows; the hum of the ceiling fan overhead: metronome to my brush-stroke sonata.
I take a deep deliberate breathe, and run my free hand through my sweaty hair.
There are a million things to do.
There are a million other things I could be doing right now.
But this is the most beautiful of all moments; and I am painting waves.
I'm here.. of all places on earth, because I want to be - I choose to be.

Right now.. what is it that you want to be doing?
Where do you want to be?
When you woke up this morning, and climbed out of your hammock.. what did you imagine that you had to do?
Go to work?
Get dressed?
Gather firewood?
Smoke a cigarette?
Take a bathe?
Get to class?
We are one choice away from what we want.

"I Need to.."
"I Must.."
"I Have to.."
Those phrases ring through my mind countless times a day. Without even thinking, without even knowing what we're saying.. we offhandedly lay claim to behavior, whose necessity we have elevated above our own will; we speak as if our actions are out of our hands.. as if our moments are no longer our decision. Our lives seem pitiful and weak.. because we see ourselves in that way. Choice-less, because we have already established expectations on our day.. on our week.. on our life. Pretending to be burdened by an imaginary existence that has not yet played out.
This is your life. This is your choice.
We do anything... only because we choose to.

We assume that because of consequence.. our actions must follow a set of guidelines. If we abandon our 9-5 job, obviously we will not have an income. If we ride a bicycle everywhere, it will definitely limit how far we can travel quickly. If we give money away for no reason, we won't have money to spend on our self. If a decision makes life tougher, or makes us poorer, or takes away comfort, or leaves us hungry.. or kills us.. we do not even register that as a choice. But we still have those choices - At every moment, we still have every choice.
"I have to go to work today.. or I won't get paid."
"I can't go off sailing.. I need to settle down."
"I need more money."
"I need a car."
"I have to save for my child's college education."
"I must eat.. or I won't live."
"I need to get out of this dirt hut."


Lose everything. Lose all ambition and practicality and responsibility.. lose fear and lose anticipation.. lose rationality and then choose what you want to do today - because then you will be free to do anything.
Sleep all day.
Walk around naked wherever you please.
Paint waves on a canvas.
Go for a swim or a hike.
Leave a $10,000 tip.
Write a book.
Chop firewood.
Do open-heart surgery.
Sail to Cuba and become a communist.
Become president.
Starve yourself.
It doesn't matter. Know that choice is completely in our minds.. it is always yours. The ability to own happiness in all places, is proportional to our ability to never "must", never "need", and never "have to", ever again.
That is freedom. That is freedom.




(Andrew Tipton)

Theories on the Revolutions of Lost Planets

Freedom and the price to maintain.
Isn't that a perverted, ironic statement.
How does one acquire freedom?
Can it be purchased or stolen or shared or sold?
Where does it come from?
When is it lost?
What does freedom have to do with peace?

I would ask myself what real freedom is. Not the freedom that we read about, or talk about, or the freedom to rights or the freedom to own anything. The real freedom, the freedom that knows the perfection of water in rivers.
I don't think we even know freedom. I don't think we are aware of how insanely deep and interwoven it already is in our lives. Not even close.

Born into freedom we were - as tiny helpless babies. We were naked, bloody, uneducated, weak and owned nothing - and we were free. We had nothing. Nothing tethering us to a false existence. Nothing burdening our minds or souls. Nothing keeping us from dying, or from living. Nothing covering our bodies, nothing hiding us from the world. Nothing, is an enviable pursuit.

I listen to ideas.
The distraction of comfort, the distractions of wealth, and of security.. paint shades of gray over our beautiful sunrise - it grows dimmer.
Chris McCandless, where did you get lost brother?
Absolute freedom: Being able to abandon all but peace.
Can you give up everything owned?
A man who will not put down his rights, is not a free man.
A man who will not give up his wealth, is not a free man.
A man who will not take off his clothes, is not a free man.
A man who will not endure, is not a free man.
A man who will not be still, is not a free man.
A man who will not die, is not a free man.

Freedom comes when there is nothing left that I am afraid of losing.
A naked child, that is what I become. A child that can do anything - because all there is to live for, is life itself.



(Andrew Tipton)

work.. of art

I am facinated by the complexity, the emotion, and the personal creativity that artist pour into their work into their work. We slave over our imagination, we try and create something that will inspire or cause a response - we do all this, and we want it to last forever. At least I do.

I decided to try something different, much like the installation artist, Andy Goldsworthy - the point being art isn't meant to last. I wanted the effort and thought to be the point, not the work itself. This is contrary to how we run our lives, how we want to be remembered - forver. Its hard to put a lot of work into something that won't be around but for a few brief moments, a few fleeting seconds before it is gone! I am starting to think though, that the point of creating anything is mostly for the benefit of the creator. We want praise, addoration, and applause - but perhaps beyond that, deep down, our enjoyment can simply come from creating. I enjoyed every second of the hours it took to create my painting, and maybe that is all that matters.