It’s too intense-yet-transient to be the stuff of a poem. That somewhere equivocal is a thing I’d like to put into poems. It feels groovy to lift off and float somewhere equivocal while I’m also walking down the road. Since I’m 62, I usually begin to almost hallucinate from the cumulative exertion, from the release of endorphins. Like Dutilleux, Nakova’s picture represents a kind of absolute Modernist music - a “sound” of paradox, of deathsome beauty, of the poetics of light.Įvery day, I walk a brisk two or three miles on my gravel road, for heart exercise. Nakova deserves a full Spectral Lyre presentation of her art. Photographer Tatiana Nakova, as an artist, knows how to present the spirits of light - those strange, fluid moods of metaphysical luminosity and manifold being-exposure. Light is the medium of pure wonder, glowing melancholy, and the possibility of artistic metaphysics. It’s that backlit symbolic quality to the poems of Adam Zagajewski. It’s the lingering poetics of unconcealment and an implicit aspect of subtlest expression. For me, light is an ancient flashing-forth of dramatic gesture.
Certain people flourish with sideways glancing science is disadvantaged by front-on clarity. Science looks at birds ornithologically, while composer Oliver Messiaen looked at them symbolically. Whereas science deals with light scientifically, electro-dynamically, I look at it oddly, in terms of spirit, dream, and pathological aesthetics. If light is also some kind of substance, well, it’s way too distinctive and way too shiny to be taken as akin to regular nutty substance. Everything would be less logically stressful if there were just complete black dark, always and everywhere. It seems superfluous, gratuitous, anomalous - like too much red lipstick on an ostrich. I calm down.īut light is a persistent problem. Nonetheless, my spatial and substantive mood always passes. Schopenhauer might have been onto something. No wonder substance is also essentially nuts. It’s like the coagulated tears of some abyssal god. Why should I if I have to do it through space, which is not there but is? Space must be plumb crazy. Sometimes, I get so frustrated with space that I don’t even want to move. They graph it out and drop steel balls on it, so gravity will have something to do. Physicists toss around the word “space” as if it’s natural and identified. What’s not there but is there to keep me and other relational objects from being smeared across time.
I worry about walking-around, everyday space. When I’m in a certain mood, I fret over space - how is it possible to be located, for the weird substance of me to be in a given place? How can I be taking up space when I don’t know what space is? Outer space can go jump in the lake. That process of reconciliation can take awhile when I find myself in a spatial and substantive mood. Occasionally, I can be reconciled to the existence of space and ordinary substance.
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