I've rediscovered the visual
I have found a new late night time-killer/ procrastination technique. (Jenny, you are expressly forbidden to partake - dissertate, dissertate, dissertate... and then come see me in NH ;)...
What could it be, one might ask oneself... or not. I have been exploring flickr in a deeper sense, I mean, not just as a way to photo host for us PC deprived, but an impressive online gallery. I have been collecting favorite photos and in general finding some really moving images. Now that I have joined the rank and file of the digital millenium, I might as well forget my body and just become a pair of eyes poring over the same two-dimensional objects that thousands of other eyes have dissected. There is some comfort in the collectivity, I think. I found, again, my poetry from when I was 17... although there are things that I would be tempted to edit at this time, I am amazed to recall (again) that I am pretty much inherently exactly the same person, horribly defeatist, embarassingly hopeful, wrapped up in a self-imposed solitude, full of longing... Maybe I just need a good kick in the ass. The weekend trip we took will have to wait until the photos can be posted (oh yeah, the bad thing about flickr, at least when using a free account, is that your bandwidth is limited per month, so you either pay for a "pro" account, or you just deal... Now if I were good enough to consider myself a "pro" I might actually spring for the 24.99, but sadly, while I take decent photos, I am nothing special. Although, I could blame it on my lack of macro, how I wish I could take the pictures that I envision, but, I can't, so I won't be a pro anytime soon).
So what was I saying? Oh yes, amid the bad poetry I discovered a musing on the consumption of art, or the participation in the "event" of going to a gallery... I remember feeling utterly isolated by the bare white walls, the posing postures of the viewers... not so with digital galleries. And while the virtual world is so much less than the real world, it is very much, I think the distillation of human society. Humans are not very well adjusted animals I might add. Take me for example. I want so much to be brave and experience nature, but I am often crippled by my own fear and pessimism. I hate that about me. I did conquer my fear though, despite having an inward, silent and non-manifest panic attack walking along the ridge halfway up a mountain, three inches from the precipice. I am not afraid of heights so much as I am afraid of edges. When I am driving too. I don't care how high I am, but I have this overwhelming temptation to throw myself over edges, which, I imagine, might be very unbecoming. I also managed to force myself to scale an (albeit small) very steep rockface (improper footwear notwithstanding, in fact I was barefoot) after watching I. scramble nimbly up before me. God, to be so fearless, or so trusting... Now put me in the water and I am just fine, and I don't feel any of the terror about bad things happening to my baby. I just trust the water more, even if it was only 65 degrees and biting.
It is good to get one's body moving up and down mountains (despite fear, or to spite it) and after the initial 20 minutes when it feels that one's calves are going to renounce all functioning, it is amazing how the inertia makes one's body actually ask to keep marching up up up. It chases away the darkness, the thoughts of razor edges and bloodletting and the night terrors that preceeded. I want to paint a picture with words, as my visual skills are lacking, of the exact sensation that abounds, but it is late, and I am now home, and work is calling to me... So I will go now, but I'll be back tomorrow.
What could it be, one might ask oneself... or not. I have been exploring flickr in a deeper sense, I mean, not just as a way to photo host for us PC deprived, but an impressive online gallery. I have been collecting favorite photos and in general finding some really moving images. Now that I have joined the rank and file of the digital millenium, I might as well forget my body and just become a pair of eyes poring over the same two-dimensional objects that thousands of other eyes have dissected. There is some comfort in the collectivity, I think. I found, again, my poetry from when I was 17... although there are things that I would be tempted to edit at this time, I am amazed to recall (again) that I am pretty much inherently exactly the same person, horribly defeatist, embarassingly hopeful, wrapped up in a self-imposed solitude, full of longing... Maybe I just need a good kick in the ass. The weekend trip we took will have to wait until the photos can be posted (oh yeah, the bad thing about flickr, at least when using a free account, is that your bandwidth is limited per month, so you either pay for a "pro" account, or you just deal... Now if I were good enough to consider myself a "pro" I might actually spring for the 24.99, but sadly, while I take decent photos, I am nothing special. Although, I could blame it on my lack of macro, how I wish I could take the pictures that I envision, but, I can't, so I won't be a pro anytime soon).
So what was I saying? Oh yes, amid the bad poetry I discovered a musing on the consumption of art, or the participation in the "event" of going to a gallery... I remember feeling utterly isolated by the bare white walls, the posing postures of the viewers... not so with digital galleries. And while the virtual world is so much less than the real world, it is very much, I think the distillation of human society. Humans are not very well adjusted animals I might add. Take me for example. I want so much to be brave and experience nature, but I am often crippled by my own fear and pessimism. I hate that about me. I did conquer my fear though, despite having an inward, silent and non-manifest panic attack walking along the ridge halfway up a mountain, three inches from the precipice. I am not afraid of heights so much as I am afraid of edges. When I am driving too. I don't care how high I am, but I have this overwhelming temptation to throw myself over edges, which, I imagine, might be very unbecoming. I also managed to force myself to scale an (albeit small) very steep rockface (improper footwear notwithstanding, in fact I was barefoot) after watching I. scramble nimbly up before me. God, to be so fearless, or so trusting... Now put me in the water and I am just fine, and I don't feel any of the terror about bad things happening to my baby. I just trust the water more, even if it was only 65 degrees and biting.
It is good to get one's body moving up and down mountains (despite fear, or to spite it) and after the initial 20 minutes when it feels that one's calves are going to renounce all functioning, it is amazing how the inertia makes one's body actually ask to keep marching up up up. It chases away the darkness, the thoughts of razor edges and bloodletting and the night terrors that preceeded. I want to paint a picture with words, as my visual skills are lacking, of the exact sensation that abounds, but it is late, and I am now home, and work is calling to me... So I will go now, but I'll be back tomorrow.
posted by ilana at 11:19 p.m.
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