not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

coming/going


it is not because it is pretty that i stop to notice it
it is because it is so painfully/beautifully temporary

12 comments:

  1. love what you wrote, and the foto is great a pleasure to watch at it, it is good you stopped this moment forever

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  2. i think beauty requires one of two things (though of course they can occur together):

    either the knowledge that what we are seeing is transitory (a flower, a child)

    or the knowledge that we ourselves are transitory (the sea, a lover)

    is one more beautiful than the other? or perhaps it is only an illusion that these are two different experiences?

    the photograph is absolutely gorgeous and essential ... and i want it to be temporary, i am grateful for the flower's death :-)

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  3. [efémero o rascunho do silêncio, quase

    tão imenso
    como o tamanho do universo
    nos seus mais ínfimos detalhes.]

    excelente o momento,
    fugaz, temporário, permanente!

    Leonardo B.

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  4. It's in this moment,this conscious moment, that we are most human.

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  5. All that is beautiful is temporary. By time of day; by season or by time of life, beauty at least partially relies on it's temporal nature to even exist.

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  6. what kind of flower is it?

    i have always liked plum blossoms more than cherry tree blossoms (sakura) (in a way, of course such comparisons are meaningless) - but the japanese say that their adoration must go to the cherry blossoms, because their life span is the shortest...


    CHORUS: Indeed, "Are we to call them clouded?
    These waters which were for so many years
    A mirror for the flowers
    That now lay scattered there?"
    And even we who know so well
    That flowers fall and turn to dust
    We too are nothing but dreams, fleeting
    Like the flowers that we would pity so,
    Like the flowers in that old poem, that
    "Fall aimlessly from the branch
    And turn to pitiful foam
    On the water's surface"
    We, ignorant of our own fate
    Relish the sight of white waves of flowers,
    Envious of the myriad birds at play among the blossoms
    As if their fate weren't also fleeting.
    Moved by the mists
    And saddened by the dew
    Such are our hearts.

    all excerpts from Sakuragawa (The Cherry Blossoms River), a Noh play by Zeami

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  7. damaso, it is such an immense cycle, isn't it? we are so small inside of it. (i am happy to know my smallness and even as i write this i realize i am even smaller than i think.)

    laura, it's only an illusion that i stopped anything, a blip on the screen, but thank you.

    james, i think it must be an illusion for we are but the flower and the child. i think where we get it confused is inside of a linear frame of mind or a two dimensional world. we like paper so much we forget that we are a part of a sphere that never settles. i am grateful for the flower's death, too. if not for the flower's death we would have no life.

    translated: [Ephemeral draft of the silence, almost as huge as the size of the universe in its smallest details.] great moment, fleeting, temporary, permanent! Leonardo B.

    thank you, leonardo. the smallest details are all we have. we must pay more and more attention.

    rosaria, most human and most blessed)

    d. edwards, is there anything that is not temporal? thereby, is there anything that is not beautiful?

    roxana, an unnamed flower:) i do not know these things. i don't even starve for the naming. i wonder if this is a deficiency.))

    i think it would be good work to dull our ignorance and sharpen our awareness and then to accept that we will fall aimlessly from the branch and turn to pitiful foam. please, how might we do this? i ask you and then i turn to the day and ask again.

    thank you, dean)

    xo
    erin

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  8. You are quite right Erin, are negligible, the problem is that we attach great importance, we are very ambitious and that we lost.

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  9. Most people would be hard pressed to agree but good or bad; everything in life has it own beauty.

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  10. That's melancholy, yes sweet and painful at the same time.... Now i turn older i just really understand melancholy by heart.

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))