Thursday, 16 October 2008
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
Monday, 13 October 2008
Someone, a scientist, recently explained to me how things in outer space works. Light on earth travels so fast, we don’t even notice the fraction of time it needs to travel from the sun to the object and reflect into the eye, which would be you, or me (and of course our eye sends the information to our brain which interprets what has been seen). (I didn’t want to interrupt his locomotive of speech, but I thought one does see how light travels on our little earth, especially when the sun says good morning and good night, or maybe it’s just my active imagination).But, the scientist says with such conviction, in outer space everything is so vast, and silent I presume, that light needs to travel distances which can be measured in years.(This is where he takes a deep breath, a brief halt, but the passengers don’t disembark at the station, the locomotive steams ahead). The amount of light on star X would travel 8 light years(hypothetically) before it will reach star XY and therefor, what star XY then sees is in reality something that existed 8 years ago already. But star XYZ which is 70 light years away hasn’t seen what star XY has seen, because the light would still need 62 years more to travel from star XY to reach star XYZ.So hypothecically (this scientist likes hypothecicals) an image exists forever, because the whole outer space is not even mapped out yet and this light with the picture keeps on travelling. Don’t you just love outer space?I know words travel on soundwaves, but I believe the same is true for them. Makes one think. I believe the image speaks for itself.
Monday, 6 October 2008
Some of my earliest memories are of me snipping away. Collagé has such a surreal quality about it. Pieces of memory ripped out and reshuffled to create a new more pleasing one.
They are sitting in the café, just met...the excitement of his presence mingles with the alluring coffee aroma. He tells her something intimate, something you only tell a stranger you just met, someone who won’t judge. The cold outside is envious, presses itself against the window to get a clearer view, but the coffee machine’s steam hides their gestures and expressions from the colder world outside. I love this memory. He asks her something and she looks down shyly, plays with the empty sugar packet. The back of a sugar packet lends some wisdom. He asks her what she’s thinking. She reads the words printed at the back of the sugar packet. You don’t want to know what I’m thinking about, she thinks. She answers something the cold and I cannot hear.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
Do not ask me where, but I remember reading that someone’s dad said that the best times to photograph outside is in foul weather. Foul weather is interesting weather, it produces intriguing light. I think I know what he meant.
Whilst sorting through the month’s work I stumbled across photo’s that I completely forgot about. I didn’t really forget, just did not think they were anything to fascinate the eye. That must be the lucky packet phenomenom photographer’s so readily speak about, because I was delightfully surprised.
My friend and I were heading out of town. It was already late during the day and the car found it’s own way up the hill, climbing altitudes, leaving behind an ever shrinking town.
What is it about open spaces that fascinate us so? How is it that open spaces make us feel safer than contained, framed ones like cities? Or maybe it is not the space or lack thereof we fear, but what is held within. Could it be that the barreness makes us see with something other than our optical eye? Is it because it makes one see differently? And the lack of silence... does it awaken the voice of the self and do we like what we hear?
We parked the car and began ascending on foot. Now the late afternoon became unpleasant, the wind picked up some pace. We were talking about wishes we were afraid to utter otherwise, I think it is because we knew the wind would sweep those words away as soon as they were spoken. Some of hers I heard, some I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. It’s more important to know that you spoke them. Those words are out there, spoken, like a message in a bottle and someday when the time is right, the message will be found, encrypted.
As we walked back, and all our words flew south or east or wherever the wind took them, I felt lighter(it was the wind; it was the grace of friendship. It’s ok if you haven’t got everything figured out, I thought). The sun followed suit and I took a picture to remember this special moment by. How grateful am I for the foul weather which turned up something fair.