We get born empty slowly filed by what overflows in others and then we see one day ourselves imagined in our mind
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.
I like Jean-Paul Sartre’s existentialism, you are responsible for your own deeds and the door is wide open. It was, and is of course a bold thought, and he refined it later in life as I understood. But in a sense, he is right. If you have to do something and it will cost you your life if you don’t, you can choose death. You can walk away from a bad relation or job, just walk away. It is simple, it sounds simple but it is also, almost impossible. A great harm or bad relation feels often more secure than an unknown future or a known future you don’t want.
Sartre came up with many of his thoughts during the second world war in occupied France. He probably knows more about the ultimate sacrifice than we do, even if it is just through stories from close friends. Would you save someone else’s life if it meant your own death? It is a choice you have according to Sartre, there is no denying in that.
Another example, more relatable for most of us. Keeping a job you don’t like but the bill’s keep on coming and you and the people that rely on you need to eat and want a roof over their heads. There is no physical force, that I can think of, that keeps you from walking away from it all. And people do of course, and we tend to shame those people.
We feel responsible, have morals and values. You just don’t do that, but you could. And Sartre was right in this sense, and you might expect that your wife or husband can take responsibility for there own life if you suddenly disappear, but what about your kids or a sick mother that lives with you?
We have the ultimate freedom to go away or choose death, but is it honest to expect this from us?
The Haiku that inspired me was from Day 889
Behind no bars
leaning on the open door
and staring outside.
The picture that was the inspiration of this poem was of a chicken in its coop, but the door was also open, as always. Footnote: this particular chicken was eaten by an…well…a sort of eagle. We saw it all happen while sitting on our couch…poor thing…maybe it was her own choice…