Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Galleria

I look through the trees at the glass windows. They are flaxen, though man-made, an architectural sun if there ever was such a thing. When I stare at the actual sun, the act negates itself; my stare is forbidden by unmitigated admittance. All possibility of future sight is left in shambles if I choose all potential sight in situation. The windows don't fare much better in terms of accommodation. The reflecting gold is so viscous that I am only left with an image of myself and outside surroundings, though the purpose of windows is to see through a priori. The teleology of the windows have become subordinate to contemporary aesthetics.



2 comments:

  1. I love this little ditty, Graham.

    A lot of we determine about our surroundings, by what we see, is what is not included. Our limited epistemology of the senses--the "frame's border"--is what gives photos like that meaning. If there were too much "stuff" in that photo, the bench and the trees wouldn't be what they were to us, would it?

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    1. Thanks, Jay. I agree, minimalism can allow for much creative thought in relation to what is in the outside world. I think existentialists in general have done this very well, and so, I definitely took some influence from one of Sartre's fictional characters, Antoine Roquentin.

      At the same time though, I don't think you need complex thoughts about simple things to necessarily make them interesting. I thought about all this while looking at the picture, but when I was actually within the fountain area, it was all kind of mindless enjoyment.

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