I Just Wanted In The Water.
Background: I am in advanced photo at my school. Its a program that technically doesnt exist, so im an enrolled in a photo I class.
My assignment over the summer was to do a series of photos depicting the term “noumena”. Today, when i finally remembered to bring in my photos to work on, mr wakely decided that i need to participate in his photo I deep thoughtful bullshit dicussion. It was a nice discussion, but we’ve had it before. We do it every year, granted it gets a little different as the years go on. So, taken away from my work to sit in the back of class and be ignored everytime i contribute, trying not to be pissed off, he decides to lead us in an imagination sesion about what reality is. We are on a beach, with the waves rolling in, washing away the kinks and impressions on the sand. okay, i might dig this, i mean, i do yoga, and meditate. But then he goes onto describe the details of MY imagination. We are in the sand, about 20 yards away from the waters edge. Its bright and sunny out, theres are kids playing on the beach. He then goes on to make a metaphor about where the sand meets the water, how its smooth, and perfect in its way. But wait, i want to get in the water. The smooth sand is clarity, and the indented, interupted sand is choas and reality. I want to wade in the water. The waves, as the come from out in the middle of the ocean, chaotic at first, are now washing away the disturbance in the sand. I want to be out in the water. Like I did with my father when i was young. Letting the waves crash over me, washing away chaos. Is my chaos less important than the sand? Why does the sand get to be made still. I just wanted in the water.
