White Spring threw doors wide open,
Bursting into sudden silver flames..
Single work of art – be it a visual piece like painting or sculpture, or rather physical like dance or theatre – is not alive till the viewer sees it and, by analysing (often unconsciously) starts interpreting it. The painter might have a certain meaning for his entire work, however, as an audience, we usually only take small, separate details out of it. The more we analyze the painting, the less it stays the whole for us — the more it breaks into pieces, each having its own meaning and interpretation. One could say that a viewer develops the work of art further, into its “life.”
These details and tiny moments worth of second that we notice, sometimes can be discovered in newer works and can show the whole piece in completely new light..
The following represents one such intimate experience of mine with works of art, particularly Henry Moore sculptures and dancer Benjamin Kamino performance of Nudity. Desire – long drawn.
When I visited Chicago just couple weeks ago, for the very first time, I went through two (non) cultural shocks. that and annoying hungry sparrows.
1. It is pronounced [Shi-ka-go], as if the old lady who can not make any harder sounds tries to pronounce it. Not sexy, bold, appealing [tʃi-ka-go] like in chess..
just realized how exhausting it will be to express phonetical frustration on paper.
anyway, it is quite interesting how sounds and phonetical elements of the word are glued so intense into our minds that it is almost impossible to accept new ways of pronunciation. so I guess i will continue Italian gang style, chicago:)
2. Who said Chicago is like New York (or rather, visa verse but doesn’t really matter)? “Ah, you love NYC? You will love Chicago even more!! ” Nope. The first 5 hours I was there I was jumping, happy-go-lucky, with wide eyes and not less wide open mouth– architecture heaven, same narrow streets with reach-the-sky churches and yay, I found another NYC for myself!! Taking into account I lived in NYC for almost 6 months few years ago, you have all the rights to lift the brow (no, do both of them) onto such statement. Yes, the second half of the very same day I devoted to a very slow realization that Chicago is not the same. It is gangster, mob city. And it is the city of neighbourhoods (maybe 2-3 in total you would want to visit) which are limited to just dozen blocks.
But I still would love Chicago as any city which forces me to look up and up..
Chicago has an open train system- mostly above the ground. This offers fantastic views– not only on the city itself, but also on the whole composition of the city along with rail tracks. Somehow this old, ugly, rusty reddened massive ironmongery blends into the city landscape very harmonically. The lines of skyscrapers, the whole beautiful geometry of colours and styles would just collapse without those rail tracks…
How about some crazy colours splashing over Chicago? With nice weird effect of prism filter. Although, using colours, I honestly transferred my cheerful coming to terms with the city, yet I could not stop gut feeling it was deserted. Maybe it was part of the long weekend, maybe hot summer days.. I would never imagine Chicago as ghost town– although quite often it felt like one. Some say, it’d file for bankruptcy like Detroit. So not sure if this was just very obvious result of yet another crisis in the row.
Now: Why Lincoln statue has a chair?.. Anyway he stands, so why it was so absolutely necessary to put up the chair there? I understand when the ‘greatest ones’ are featured in work of art with some element they always carried along– hat, glasses, book, naked angry cat — but chair…???
Well, and least but not last… Meet Chicago real local mob:))
Ah, great: thinking about the very first photograph to post on my blog took me at least one hour less then trying to figure out name for the blog. Actually I already forgot about that photo collage I did year ago. When just beginning to conquer photoshop, and just starting to realize all magic I could do with this. Old times:) Basically I try to think of all images, especially ones I edit extensively, as expressions of someone sitting very deeply inside me. Sort of subconsciousness that cannot be heard, either because it is shy, or too busy, or because it is simply still discovering itself.
Photography is a great psychologist: the image you create, the way you “paint photograph” tells you a lot about yourself. There is no need to overanalyze, but seriously– there must be something more behind our reasoning, then just “I felt like doing it”, no? The more I look at this image the more I start to recall what was going on in that foolish chaotic mind of me two years ago, newbie in Toronto, changing hobbies/interests/jobs every other month, flying like a butterfly there and here, feeling light and constantly wanting to reach for something higher, being passionate about everything and everyone at the same time..
That is Imagery Tales. No words, just images. I’m bad with words, with formulating them and trying to keep up with flow of my thoughts. But pictures&photographs are easier to express yourself with, they tell your vision, your imagery (mental images you create). Or my vision/imagery is being created by these pictures I make? Eternal question of egg and hen.