I want to comment on the photos posted today.
It is said that "the camera never lies." This is not true. It is the phenomenon that never lies. I prefer the phenomena in all of their myriad qualities, multiform colors and substantial being to the technically and digitally reproduced image. The trunks, and ice dripping, green, orange and white algae only appear in just this light and the photograph miraculously "stops" the event of these things coming to pass. But it is the event of these things coming to pass that amazes me.
The camera always lies is more accurate.
Even if I were to step into the wet mud every day until I die, I would never step in the same mud as I did today. All is flowing as Heraclitus has said and you can never step in the same river twice.
Indeed, it is far behind me now, the bottle I tossed into the green rushing river. To where? Like a scroll unfolding (from what to what?) time allows the scene to unfold and be revealed in the sunlight as phenomenon, from the void into the void, or from the plenitude of being into the plenitude of being, which description fits I know not.
All things seem to linger after we have gone like the ancient weathered milestone photographed below, and even permanent markers are changed if only because the scene keeps on changing around and behind the stone.
Other things are more ephemeral like the algaes, or the mud dipped boot like a fat brush in a pot of golden brown oil paint.
It is said that "the camera never lies." This is not true. It is the phenomenon that never lies. I prefer the phenomena in all of their myriad qualities, multiform colors and substantial being to the technically and digitally reproduced image. The trunks, and ice dripping, green, orange and white algae only appear in just this light and the photograph miraculously "stops" the event of these things coming to pass. But it is the event of these things coming to pass that amazes me.
The camera always lies is more accurate.
Even if I were to step into the wet mud every day until I die, I would never step in the same mud as I did today. All is flowing as Heraclitus has said and you can never step in the same river twice.
Indeed, it is far behind me now, the bottle I tossed into the green rushing river. To where? Like a scroll unfolding (from what to what?) time allows the scene to unfold and be revealed in the sunlight as phenomenon, from the void into the void, or from the plenitude of being into the plenitude of being, which description fits I know not.
All things seem to linger after we have gone like the ancient weathered milestone photographed below, and even permanent markers are changed if only because the scene keeps on changing around and behind the stone.
Other things are more ephemeral like the algaes, or the mud dipped boot like a fat brush in a pot of golden brown oil paint.
1 comment:
kool blog, I'll be back.
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