I painted this using a pocketknife and white paint on white paper, in very dim light. Its inspiration was a suffocating, grey, bitter cold day not unlike the long stretch of days prior to it. In an effort to find beauty somewhere, anywhere, I extended my mobile phone out of my front door and captured an image. This one:
I chose white because white can be terrifying, and I needed to feel something, anything, amidst the dismal winter. I used a pocketknife because it was near and I couldn’t be bothered to search for a brush. Chipping away at this tree, scraping paint, and building texture, I remember losing myself in the cello and Radiohead and then the cello again. Had the day been filled with yellow sun and blue skies, I wouldn’t have learned the beauty of white on a bitter grey day.
I keep this painting displayed alone on the large grey wall of my office to remind me how to manipulate what is near and transform it into something beautiful. It teaches me to just sit back and absorb the everyday.
I am fixed on time, on the notion of now being the only moment in which we exist.
Watching the snow fall, I sense motion. Listening to my bulldog snore, I hear motion. Sitting at my desk, completely still, my body is in incredible motion: cells dying, living, splitting. Synapses firing, ceasing, firing. Plaques and tangles forming. Skin flaking, hair falling. Thoughts racing, forgetting, creating. Stan Getz vibrating my eardrum, coffee stimulating olfactory senses, blood rushing, mitral valve failing, information gathering, fingers typing, erasing, revising, second-guessing, muscles degenerating, skin oiling, capturing a moment, remembering it differently, creating a fancier moment.
If it’s in the past, did it exist? Is now a compilation of fictitious nows that form a fictitious past? How divisible is now? Is it a Planck moment? A whole universe grew in a Planck moment. Where was I then? Was I then? If I was then, I always am. The whole universe could fit inside my box then. I wonder if I want it to fit inside my box now. What is the implication of filling it?
Posted in philosophy, writing
Tagged changing perspective, Emotion, Fleeting moments, impermanence, memory, motion, now, perception, relativity, Thought, time, universe