The Music: Regrets, I had a few…
Last Updated on November 1, 2017 by Patrick
Mournful and yet grand is the destiny of the artist.
Franz Liszt.
Fear strikes. Death comes in sequences. Though, it is interesting the fact that death is just another birth, such as coming out from a womb which dies in the process. You shed your clothes in order to live anew.. meaning with new ones. Just like reptiles, beetles and other criters with such skin, so to say.
But we fear of death, for we have not seen death’s processes while being alive. It should rather be the death of fear, instead.
I only speak of what I know and lived. I speak of these because I have lived them on my own skin, I’d say. When I have something to say is because I have lived it. Before my final breath I feel content with what I have lived. But fear not! I am not dying or leaving this world in any way. I still have my own mission to complete.
Regrets, I had a few, yes. I still have them. But I check myself and reflect upon them. I understand what they are and, if they are incorrect states of mind, I correct them. I like to have me nice and neat within me so I can serve mankind, Mother Nature, the world better or I should say in a superior way. My legacy is what I do and how I influence others and the world in general. What I leave during this pilgrimage or mystical cosmic voyage on this planet is what concerns me the most, nowadays, though I confess and have it as a regret that I was looking about for other things than the ones belonging to my own journey and mission.
Enough said about me. I want to concentrate on death and revival in Nature. It is a lesson in confidence and faith. It is a lesson in art also, in music, in photography, in seeing, in living.
In the summer, in the mountains, there are fires here and there, and about, starting due to the heat and the piercing sun rays. Given the fact that, on the alpine plains, only grasses and shrubs, and other small plants live and that there are ridges and other gaps of such sort in the habitats, the mountain fires that sprout naturally don’t expand, but remain isolated. It was quite interesting to contemplate such an event one day, but even more interesting I found the dead and burnt juniper bushes being in the same place with the alive ones. The difference between dead and alive was compelling to photograph and the feelings that I’ve got were overwhelming. The burnt junipers were white, almost completely, which made me think about the white death. Also very interesting and awe inspiring was the black earth. I have to say, these inspired me to write this philosophical, photographical essay. Such opposites are striking in one’s heart and mind!
White death and black earth! This is not the first time I see this. But it is the first time I see it in such conditions that I could compare both sides of the story. It was a depth in death that I saw, a realm of deconstruction, one would say, but I payed a few more minutes of attention and I looked around. Other small and underdeveloped plants had the chance to rise, to grow, to live, and so they did, because there was more sunlight for them, so it is reconstruction rather. It’s like growing hair continuously. Death is nothing more than the process of growing.
I think that there would be no growth in this world if there wasn’t death. It is a part of the process and there are states of crystallized matter or condensed energy, as Einstein put it. Once they reach their apex in development, they return to their original state, to the point. The only thing truly alive, perpetually alive is the fire, as it is the only capable of creating and creating again. All is fire, even the already burnt ones. Can you see the fire in them, as if they lived in fire and died in fire? Can you see that they are fire? This fire is the recital of their life and of their death.
There is no beginning or end, only action, only doing, and this doing is mastered by fire. Once I understood that I too am of fire, I had no excuses for slacking off, not doing anything, my mission, my art, my life, my everything, just like the song says. But I still oppose because I know not myself completely. I know very little of myself and stil travelling and journeying within me. What I found are obstacles ahead. But to where? To my peace of being.
To me photography is also teaching me to look in the mirror and see. Before this, I directed my eyes unconsciously around, but when I photograph I practice seeing, truly seeing.
And music? What about it? Well, music is the arrangement and the dance, the action, the choreography of what I see.
I see them move. I see them burn. I see them sing.
Photography is light. Music is movement, animation. Music is fire. Music is mathematics. Music is air, water and the earth. Music is life and death.
Cinematography is photography and music at the same time. I see the movement in a still photograph. But real photographs also move, are alive.
The most difficult to make is a photograph that depicts life with all it’s movement. Most difficult is to photograph living life.
But life is made of deaths. There would be no life if it wasn’t for death. Living beings die living. They die and so they live.
Nevertheless, what or who’s everlasting within us?
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