Bruce just forwarded me a note re Philippe's death. This is such a great loss, one, so very hard to grasp. My deepest sympathies to his friends and family and all those so fortunate to know and love him.

Remembering Philippe Cottenceau

It was Philippe's pure breath which gave life to the most precious things which brighten my thoughts, calling my attention to the pleasures of the small elements of nature which inhabit the nearer corners of our sky, so often neglected, .
I remembered him often in my own quiet moments giving pause to enjoy and wonder at how many different kinds of magic flight there might be:
Watching children, their heads turned upward, smiles lighting up the heavens, arms flung wide like wings, leaping joyfully off porch stoops; the fall leaves, each one finding their own erratic pathway leaving the near sky before alighting on the earth; the many different flights of insects, the fat bumble bees, hovering, their tiny transparent wings a blur of movement; the complex path taken by butterflies flitting from flower to flower; birds of all sizes, shapes and colors, their mastery of flight never to be equaled; even scraps of paper lifted up high, floating on a light breeze, so beguiling we pause to watch and wonder at the beauty of their journey.
It seems not only ourselves, but every element around us has the dream of flight in their being.

There was the time I spent with Philippe in Indonesia.
At the end of a long day of festival kite flying, night falling, Philippe and I were seated next to one another on a bus carrying us back to our lodging. The old bus moved at a snail's pace, threading its way down a road packed solid with an immense throng of people returning to their homes, leaving the festival beach.
Some of the bus's kite flyers, exhausted, had their eyes closed. I had my head down, writing notes, also tired, having trouble guiding my pencil.
Philippe was still alert to his surroundings.
He touched my knee, "Look, Tal," he said in an excited voice, pointing out the window at the darkening fields alongside the roadway.
Philippe smiled with delight at the tiny lights of fireflies, just a few spread out across the vast fields, only six or so, winking on and off.
At that moment on the bus moving so slowly as night fell in Indonesia, I recognized Philippe as a kite poet, a custodian and exemplar, whose small kites made so lovingly of natural materials generated precious and all too rare moments of serenity.
In the early evening darkness the fireflies brought the day to a perfect close, giving it a kind of peaceful serenity. I could just enjoy this sight without a lot of thought, but at the same time I realized the few fireflies in this vast space of the fields, the night wrapping its cloak around the scene, simplifying the complexities of natureâ€"and lifeâ€"this personified the kind of thoughtful quiet at the heart of Philippe's being and the very special contribution he made to the world of kites: he found this beauty and peace of mind drawn from the smallest elements of nature and the simplicity, an inspiration for his kites.
It is something all too often missing in our kite festivals, overshadowed by the Jacob's coat spectacle which characterizes so much that has become the present-day kite world (my own work included).

I pray that others will come forward to travel the path Philippe has shown us, seeking their own personal means by which this small, tranquil light of Philippe's fireflies will continue to breathe nature's and his special life-force into our kite community.

Tal Streeter
Santa Fe, New Mexico
November 11, 2006