There's a ever-increasing split between what's happening in the present and what's happening in my anxious mind, and this comic is somehow touching on that. As the gap increases, touchstones between the two worlds slip away. Impossible to detect or describe. Analytics become absurd.
My mind turns to the Imagists and the attempt to cement language in simple descriptions of static moments as vehicles of experience. (Surely the invention of photography must have been significant in that line of thinking.)
Ezra Pound came to mind because of his interest in ideograms. And a random poem: A Girl (I can't find the publication date?) ... about a personal transformation into forest, a loss of ego, yet, paradoxically, the process nothing but ego. The moment described imbued with loss, and anger, and grief, but verdant. And yet, though specific and personal, the overlay is mythological: triggered by the ire of Gods well beyond our own control. Our pain at once enormous, but also foolish. "Folly to the world," like the Auden poem of the Breugel painting: dogs go on with their doggy lives.
There's a ever-increasing split between what's happening in the present and what's happening in my anxious mind, and this comic is somehow touching on that. As the gap increases, touchstones between the two worlds slip away. Impossible to detect or describe. Analytics become absurd.
ReplyDeleteMy mind turns to the Imagists and the attempt to cement language in simple descriptions of static moments as vehicles of experience. (Surely the invention of photography must have been significant in that line of thinking.)
Ezra Pound came to mind because of his interest in ideograms. And a random poem: A Girl (I can't find the publication date?) ... about a personal transformation into forest, a loss of ego, yet, paradoxically, the process nothing but ego. The moment described imbued with loss, and anger, and grief, but verdant. And yet, though specific and personal, the overlay is mythological: triggered by the ire of Gods well beyond our own control. Our pain at once enormous, but also foolish. "Folly to the world," like the Auden poem of the Breugel painting: dogs go on with their doggy lives.