We don’t choose the times in which we live. Sometimes all is in accord and the feeling of unison makes for a sentiment of a long and sure summer season. At other times, it feels like you might be frozen out of it, the hostility of time numbing the senses and permeating the chill deep under the skin. Until the shoots of hope signal the arrival of springtime and a new cycle will begin. The seasons never last forever. Time flies.
People quantify and specify time but largely perceive it intuitively, by internal “clocks”. Our relationship with time reflects in the colourful language we create as we incessantly record our lives against its backdrop. We move through our lifetimes bonded to our relentless real-ty and to each other by portions of time granted. Jarred and stressed by the whirlwind pace of the world.
To be pushed, pulled, twisted and turned, over and over, is a part of life. We are moved and constrained by the primary laws of materiality. So much so, humans invented morality to bestow emotional qualities onto the apathetic laws of physics. It makes us feel in control, for a time being.
In our restlessness we crave the sense of balance, a hope to fight back unforgiving reality with the power of will. But how do we keep the balance when both yourself and everything around you moves? Maybe it comes from the connections we make, both those bonding us here and now and those that stretch beyond our lifetimes. Maybe the balance comes from staying flexible and open to change. Or maybe it is in a notion that every small part’s action is followed by reaction in this complex and ever-adapting system.
To be pushed, pulled, twisted and turned, over and over, is a part of life.
An idea of “The Hands" came about amid the Lockdown. The world has shrunk abruptly and dramatically, the only space that mattered was within immediate reach of the body. And whatever we reach, influence, and react with - hands are what we' perceive' the reality with. And as is the case with the habitual we often fail to acknowledge that. So they have become my “playthings”, linking conceptual with mundane. Another concept that I felt had a huge resonance during this period was "Time". Once we experienced the end to a certain more or less common rhythm it became apparent that although people nominally share “time” we both perceive and use it very differently. Beyond the common values, it is also a uniquely intimate concept. We are not new to that, just look at all the colourful language associated with both. I think this points to a certain need to find a way of understanding each other, though language for instance. But my effectiveness is in visual “translations”, and I discovered a certain excitement in feeling connected to wider preoccupations then my own. In times like that, "the ego' gets adjusted. Hopefully.