in British English
verb (used with or without object), an·thro·po·mor·phized, an·thro·po·mor·phiz·ing.
Anthropomorphizing is the human tendency to see the illusory or theoretical human-behavior and qualities in humans*, animals, and other objects.
*a bipedal primate mammal (Homo sapiens)
Human evolution ended at the empty spot left there at the exhibition of human evolution the skull to radioactive to handle the last standing didn't care
I opened Lightroom today, which is my photo editing and organizing program, and I clicked by accident on the main folder; it showed me thumbnails of all the photos on my computer. I immediately saw my face and clicked on it to enlarge it. It is one of the scans of an old slide, probably from around 1996.
I find it a shame that you (or maybe it’s just me) can never look at yourself like you look at a stranger. If I meet someone for the first time, I will always get some impression of who this person is, and the longer we interact, the more detailed that mental picture becomes. It is a little bit more difficult if you only see the person in a photo, but even then, you could get some information out of it, even if it is just the type of cloth they wear or the setting they are in, it all combined tells you something.
As a good skeptic, I don’t attach too much value to what my first impression tells me, but it is at least something. If I look at myself in the mirror or at this picture from 25 years ago, I get nothing. Meeting myself would be nice, but that’s not possible yet; only on video can I see myself moving around and interacting with other people.
It is just something I find curious, and I wonder if it is just me or if this is normal. I think it has something to do with what I think about myself. In this picture, I see myself from 25 years ago, and I learned a few things in the meantime, but… I also know that what we think or feel about ourselves often has little to do with what others think or “feel” about us. There might be some truth in both observations*, but maybe, that what I think about myself conflicts with what the person on the photo shows me, which is why I have a hard time seeing anything when I stare into those eyes. As if I deny my past self.
I have to say that the longer I look at the picture, the more I see, so it is time to stop because all the staring and thinking dilute my first, perhaps purer, impression of what I wanted to write about today. You could say that I start to project what I might want to see onto the person in that old picture, something we humans are good at. Being real to yourself is hard
*Some people see your personality as not fixed but something that is constantly in motion. Every little turn or event changes you, even if it is just in the slightest. You are not the same as who you were yesterday, let alone 25 years ago. You can take this also literally, there is not one molecule in me that was also there in 1996. In that sense, I am now a whole other person, and only my copies of the original DNA know how to keep the whole façade intact, though I don’t understand why my DNA finds it necessary to take away some of my hair.
Part of my work is restoring old doors, and today I started with this door. This is an old door that is now in use as an emergency exit that also sometimes gets used for special occasions. It is in the main Library here in Trondheim, and the head historian of Trondheim told me today that she believes it was already part of the building before it got renovated in 1831. The door has been restored before, probably in the seventies, but the original fittings are still there, and only parts of the wooden construction (the lock stile) are relatively new.
The hinges are old, they are fitted in such a way that we would damage the door if we try to remove them, so we leave them. It is pretty incredible that these old hinges are still doing their work after almost 200 years; modern hinges that are screwed to the doors of today will probably never last that long.
Another point that shows the craftsmanship used in making these old doors is that most of my job will be replacing parts of the wood used in the restoration they did 50 years ago. You have to understand that it is not only the carpenter’s work that makes these doors last but also the people that sell the wood. They understood what kind of wood was needed for making a quality door and were in contact with the right people that could deliver the right kind of wood for the job. In short, the whole ecosystem was “made” for quality, not quantity. We, of course, don’t know what happened to all the other old doors that are long gone; we only see the ones that lasted but still.
Doors like these are the reason that I leaned towards restoring “old stuff.” It never felt right making more new things, and I like all the stories attached to all those old boats I helped restore, a door like this also has many stories: who all have opened this door, for instance, and what was their mood going in or getting out?
The picture above is more or less what I saw in my mind while looking at the light on a ceiling. I decided to take a picture of that colorful light, and my phone didn’t do a good job, it more or less showed what the light looked like in reality and not as I saw it in my mind.
Reality is often dull compared to what we make of it in our minds. Hard facts will show that bleakness and after excepting forces us to repaint that reality using the memory of what we saw the first time in our mind.
We often live by following the flawed memory of what we were dreaming ones.
My frozen face gets stuck in your mind when you see this picture thinking about what you see you forget that this picture was taken in the blink of an eye maybe it was the start of a smile or the end of it think about your judgments they are also taken in the blink of an eye you never know what the second before could have brought
Walls are our protectors but also a cause of our blind spots
Can you imagine that only a few presses of some buttons and the world as we know it will be gone including the sorrows we have now
90 Lights and shadows. – Books and drafts mean different things to different thinkers: one has collected in a book the lights that he was able swiftly to steal and carry home from the rays of some insight that dawned on him; another is able to convey only the shadows, the after-images in grey and black, of that which built itself up in his soul the day before.
The window I sit behind white wall a door I open twice a day one dark window is still I sleep a house in black and white to cutout
I know someone who works or, better said, takes care of people with disabilities, and one of them has aphasia. Aphasia is, in short, a disability where you have difficulty speaking or understanding speech. Ever since I painted the picture in my head of my friend leaving that specific disabled person alone for the rest of the day, I feel sadness coming over me. I imagine this person sitting there, looking sad, on the couch, locked within a mind with thousands of unspoken words trapped forever. I, of course, don’t know if this person has the capability to have many thoughts about their plight, but still…
Maybe that person is, to me, like a piece of art highlighting a specific character of human existence. We all have difficulty saying what we want and communicating in general, but this person shows that written in BOLD and capitalized, like an abstract painting.
The thought of that person sitting there alone, combined with the uncertainty of me if they can comprehend what is going on, makes it even sadder; what if they understand but are helplessly out of words, unable to speak or think about their life. Descartes famously said that if you can think, you “are,” but that sounds so harsh now that I know someone with aphasia.
I have no aphasia, but I often feel unable to speak, locked in my mind, but at least capable of wondering if my lack of understanding is the cause of my silence or the other way around.
Not to diminish the people suffering from this specific disease, but you might also say that we all suffer from a form of aphasia. We slowly, through millennia of history, learn to understand our thoughts and find ways to communicate with each other without grumbling or smashing each other over the head. Most of our communication is still unspoken, and how often have you not yelled at someone sounds with no meaning out of anger and loss of words?
Some questions:
Does any thought about your life counts as thinking about your life? Are your thoughts like a stream with recurring themes or like a spreadsheet that is too large? People who are born deaf and know no sounds of words, do they “speak to themselves,” how do they think? Are our words and use of them in communication only valuable for the organization of society? Can we speakers still imagine what it is not to think?
Today It felt like I changed my perspective of my perspective and decided against my interpretation of reality compared to the reality I assumed and I stared at what I felt again and again like the realization we all have with no end in sight but you can clearly see it its meaning at least it feels like that and you keep staring
Have you ever stood still while having the thought that there are eight billion people on this earth with eight billion ways of looking at the same world as you do and live in? Eight billion ways to process all of this information and at least eight billion ways of believing what is processed. Eight billion people that, by design, have to experience themselves as the center of their world. Eight billion people conversating with themselves and finding words to decipher their beliefs. Eight billion people who believe that they are alone in the world but still cling to the hope that there is another that will understand...them. Eight billion people that close their eyes every night, helpless like we all are in our sleep. Eight billion people who are only equal in their silence.
I tend to look back when I look to my future searching for lines grey area’s highlights that I can expect
6 Loss of dignity. – Reflection has lost all its dignity of form: we have made a laughing-stock of the ceremony and solemn gestures of reflection, and couldn’t stand an old-style wise man. We think too fast, while on our way somewhere, while walking or in the midst of all sorts of business, even when thinking of the most serious things; we need little preparation, not even much silence: it is as if we carried around in our heads an unstoppable machine that keeps working even under the most unfavourable circumstances. Formerly, one could tell just by looking at a person that he wanted to think – it was probably a rare occurrence – . that he now wanted to become wiser and was preparing himself for a thought: one would set one’s face as for prayer and stop walking: yes. one stood still for hours on the street once the thought ‘arrived’ – on one or two legs. The dignity of the matter required it!
This is a picture of a door with someone’s art painted on it. I don’t like showing of pictures of something that in itself is beautiful or interesting. The problem is that most things you take pictures of are interesting in themselves. A colorful sunset is beautiful, and a picture can show that, but as a photographer, you have to manipulate that reality to make the sunset yours. There is a thin line between just a picture of a sunset or landscape or a picture of these scenes that is in itself worth watching.
The art on the door and fence is interesting in itself if you go to the place where it is, you can enjoy it too, but there is a lot of distraction around it, and it might be cold or too warm and the light harsh. This picture shows what the original artist probably intended, and that is the illusion and movement. Though I manipulated this photo just like I do with a picture of a sunset, I find it still strange to take credit for it, and that is strange because a sunset is mothers nature’s work, but in a sense, so is the art we make as humans, as individuals too.
I sometimes make pictures that can be considered as art, but I have never put any effort into learning these skills. I take a lot of pictures, but that’s what I like to do and what I know of composition and style is something I just had without any effort. I had the luck that I got a camera from my parents when I was young so I could discover these qualities in me, I would have never known without the right people around me at the right time. I also find enough motivation and inspiration to keep on taking pictures, but again, there is no effort in that because it’s what I have always done when my mind is set on something, it’s “baked” in me.
I just want to say that we can praise the artist for what comes out of their mind or hands, but I think we should praise even more the coincidence that so much talent has come together in one place and gave birth to that art. I think some humility is good for all of us, and we shouldn’t inflate what “we” bring to the table ourselves. Some say that we are just conscious, I don’t know about that, but we are at least conscious of ourselves and our talents, and we should also know that we are not the cause of our talents, at most caretakers.
Nochrisis 