The allure of empty spaces, solitude, remote corners, with their explicit broken beauty. A cracked tile, a slow wandering of a shadow against a pink wall. I carry the sensation that there is something going on here of great importance, seemingly overlooked or ignored all together. Perhaps it is as simple as the fascination of a beauty, so unpretentious it hardly even exist. The beauty of observing a movement, not possible to foresee or control. And the release found in that. A fulfilling movement since it is performed by nature and therefor beyond ones correction.
But there is something else.
I sense it as I freeze, instinctively , to stop and stare at a wall. As the camera capture the scene, second by second of apparent stillness. Even as I look back at the video weeks later, I am filled with this sense of contradiction.
First there is loneliness. The scene as a visual performance of abandonment, isolation, distance. And thereby calls out to the memories of such experiences within ones own life.
The back of the building. The overseen.
Maybe loneliness is one of the most fundamental human conditions. An emotional state unaffected by status, background or culture. As it is awakened from within. As it is inevitably connected to the notion of ones alienation from and distance to all else.
As loneliness has even been crowned by many to be the very fuel for artistry and the trigger for all creative endeavor. As the need for reenactment of isolation, has been proven timeless over and over again.
Though I feel certain there is something more to it.
I get caught in front of a giant coppice, in motionless observation. Breathless. As if frightened to enter vein. And I find myself smiling.
Second there is freedom.
I am thinking that this fascination for the empty, the lonely has been mistaken so many times for something gothic. Mistaken for destructive embellishment. I am thinking of how the interpretation of the lonely has been discharged as romanticizing the somber.
And it is probably true. Yet it is merely a generalization of a phenomenon. A superficial write-off of a much wider necessity. Without taking the time to question the allure it self.
A kind of questioning which requires a self experienced notion.
So I return to the videos from the past few years of travels. And I relive the isolation of Turkish alleys, of clothing lines wavering upon roof tops, the glimpse of faces thru a store window, curves of street corners, hallways and fields…
A reflection is a two-way phenomenon.
Writers, artists and philosophers have portrayed loneliness as a core issue. A base note. An all consuming tone.
Something within me is saying that that is approaching the explanation. I mean the base note in all human existence, is a cross point between extremes. Which means that the gap between the most contradictory poles is closest right here. At the base of things. On the verge of merger.
I would assume that every single person, at some moment in life, has experienced such extreme emotional state, as to approach the breaking point, the tare of existence. Where the utmost pain reaches a point of freedom or the utmost euphoria comprises even grief.
It makes me wonder whether that cross point of duality might be present much more often than that, as to emerge in to the experiences of the mundane. Might it even be constant?
As I stand in front of that pink cracked wall, behind the closed pizzeria, I acknowledge the emptiness. Yet I feel content. As if a long lost question has been answered. And the ongoing frustration I normally carry around, is suddenly silent for a moment. Instead there is a sensation of accomplishing greatness, solely by observing. A true satisfaction. Not one of destructive embellishment. Not merely the relief of recognition with the isolate. No one-way experience at all. But the satisfaction of the base note of duality.
For what lies beyond the absent?
Since the tare which loneliness reflects, is simply an illumined wound of belonging.