And so now, of course, it is time to "get on with things," whatever "things" is. The news is full of tips on how to "get into shape" without really trying, advice on how to become "a super ager," on what to eat to and drink for perfect health, etc.
As we all know, there are too many photographs in the world now, but I've come to the conclusion that there is just too much writing as well. The Times, I think, dedicates more words to opinions than to actual news. Here's the conclusion to today's David Brook's piece, logic and evidence be damned:
If you lead a life designed to maximize personal independence and autonomy, you’ll get to live a relatively unrestricted life. But you’re more likely to live a low-energy life, slower to harbor those great loves for people, places, God, vocation and nation that arouse fervent passions and yield ardent lives.
If, on the other hand, you resist the autonomy ethos and put loving passion at the center of your philosophy of life, you will find yourself tied down by all sorts of obligations — to things like a spouse, kids, community, God and a vocation. But your love for these things will constitute fires in the heart, producing great vitality, full engagement, an increase in personal force. It is one of the weird paradoxes of life that the constraints you choose are the ones that set you free.
This ridiculous binary would be best read in Redbook or Reader's Digest. But. . . he has to come up with something.
"What the hell are you saying? Pot meet kettle."
Yea, that's sort of my point. Pictures and words every day. And in truth, I can't even say what I really want or post or even take the photos I desire.
"Well, you know, our best lives are left unlived."
I watched one of those good photo vids on YouTube last night and came away with this jewel: "Images of the child contain the latent adult."
Something like that.
Anyway. . . we must get on with life. And life is hard. And so we have. . . therapists. Here's a bit of a clip I heard on NPR's "Here and Now" yesterday while driving.
I don't know. I mean. . . I guess. Now a therapist must admit that they never "cure" anyone, and in this incidence, even the therapist admits that the real problem lies not with the individual but with the economic situation that keeps the working class in an increasingly desperate state.
"That will be one hundred dollars."
Economic hardship among the working class doesn't simply exist here in the wealthiest country in the world, of course. I've recently been recommended by my YouTube algorithms this. It seems like a masterful piece of absurd minimalist cinema to me.
I have another made by a female worker in Japan if you want more.
This woman takes comfort in noodle dishes, David Brooks in. . . whatever.
Life is an absurdist play by Beckett, it seems, full of distractions or nothing at all.
I think of Auden's "The Unkown Citizen."
As C.C. is fond of saying, "The world is mad but for thee and me. . . and I'm not so sure about thee." It is either a bastardization of a Robert Owen quote or something from Shakespeare. But yea. . . you get the point.
Some photographers try to make images of that place between hope and despair. So I've heard. I would like to make images of the space between being and not being. I stayed up far too late last night trying to get Chat to help me do just that.
All night long, it and I worked on ways to convert images into something akin to this, but hours later, the results were disappointing. I have found a way, though, of grabbing the image before it completely forms, in that limbic zone of existence. But. . . the technique is wholly unreliable.
The hours have given me ideas for postprocessing my own images, though. It will be labor and time intensive and will ultimately fail, I fear, but I'll need to give it a go.
"In these pictures, we see the latent image."
Yes. . . keep working on that.
"I woke this morning, it felt just like yesterday."
Well there you go, the absolute workings of an unformed mind. I'll need a nap today, but maybe the best artists work in some sleepless, semi-conscious state in which the world is dreamlike and partially complete.
Who am I kidding, though. I'm just some Average Joe. But as the song goes, (the song?), "pretending's fun."
No comments:
Post a Comment