Traces
dans la Neige (en Suisse)
circa early twentieth century (?)
Though it is not
winter, the mood of this picture can be felt with every season. The size, the
depth, of time; the feeling of living without restrictions; the illusion of
knowing, of seeing, more than what is really there - these are thoughts that
merge with sudden clarity, like the tracks in the snow. But the moment they
come together a part of the clarity begins to break away; the sharpness of what
seemed to be so clear starts to lose shape, to melt.
These moments take
over our minds unexpectedly. They represent the epitome of personal discovery
and last only for as long as we can remain focused. Their beauty lies in how
little warning they give us before they arrive; in how forcefully they channel
us into questioning ideas we never knew that we had; and in how temporarily
they linger with us before floating away. Usually we are left with just their
fossils - the immediate impressions they leave in their shadow, the remaining
particles of their heavy perfume - and for a while we sift through these fragments
until, gradually, they lose their original meanings altogether, leaving us with
no more than the traces of their once shortly-lived lives. Like ever-changing
clouds and currents things are meant to evolve with the purpose of leaving
behind a piece that explains the reason for which they evolved, not the reason
for which they existed. And as with our thoughts we only truly understand them
once they leave us - once they recede and, inevitably, disappear completely.
