perspective

Out of the Box: Aiming Low

Fall ushers in new beginnings, fresh starts, and sharpened pencils. Perhaps it’s because of the leftovers from school days–backpacks unscathed by cement draggings, pens full of ink, blank notebooks ripe with promising stories. Or perhaps it is the cool breeze that releases the imagination pent-up by the sweltering heat.

It’s also about pumpkin spice lattes, but that’s a different subject altogether.

This week, the writers of Aiming Low have issued a photography challenge: aim low. It’s all about perspective, they said. So I took my camera to the arboretum and looked to my feet.

And there were pumpkins, all promising the imagination of Halloween, the catch of new stories, and, of course, the makings of a great latte.

They lined up, parading themselves for my delight.

In these simple joys (who doesn’t adore pumpkins–there’s pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin seeds, have I mentioned the pumpkin spice latte?), I’m reminded that while I aim high in my writing itself, I aim low in my expectations.

Let me ‘splain: it’s up to me to create a great story. It’s up to me to pursue every opportunity for learning and for publishing/marketing I can. After all, I write so that others won’t feel alone. I hope my stories will resonate with others. But I can’t hang my every word on high expectations of fame and fortune. My writing interacts with readers, but it doesn’t depend on readers (or, more specifically, numbers of them).

So I aim low.

In other news, my husband took a handful of 20-week belly shots. Here’s one, in keeping with our aim low theme, of my ripening belly.

Can you believe I’m halfway done roasting this coffee bean?

And one more aim low shot courtesy of my husband’s eye:

Don’t you adore pathways? They might lead anywhere!

Artuality: Olafur Eliasson–A Study in Perspective

Recently, I went with a friend to the Dallas Museum of Art to see the Olafur Eliasson exhibit.

Exhibit is the wrong word, perhaps. It infers art you view. His installations embody the viewer. Indeed, the viewer becomes part of the art itself.

As you enter into his installations, you contemplate the basics of art: color, shapes, perspective, lines, time, movement, even sound.

For example, at the opening to the exhibit, a fan (as in floor, not celing) dangles from the roof, circling around you and interrupting the sound waves.

You step into one room, and it sucks the color from you. Monochromatic bulbs emit light at a narrow frequency so the room appears yellow and everyone and everything in it becomes black, white, and shades of grey. We followed one women into the room. She wore a red shirt. Walking through the kaleidescope opening, we watched the color disappear from her shirt.

The room across the way envelopes you in color. You stand inches from a screen, and it consumes you in the rainbow. You see only color in your vision, peripheral included. As it passes from hot pink to warm orange to cool blue, your mood changes. It causes sensations of tension (hot pink), comfort (warm orange), and relaxation (cool blue). I swear I felt a Caribbean breeze with the turquoise!

Moving through the exhibit, you immerse yourself in light, walk into prisms, and step through windows like Alice through the looking glass. Light splits, reflects, and refracts, colors and shapes impress about your eyes images never given, and a moss wall draws you to earth. In a piece entitled Beauty, a fine mist reflects light, revealing a spectrum of beauty seen uniquely to you (the person standing next to you sees something completely different).

Three thoughts struck me as I entered into this world: simplicity, perspective, and playfulness. As I contemplated these simple facets of art and life, becoming part of them instead of viewing them objectively, as I embraced my perspective of them, their playfulness and joy swept through me. You can’t help but wonder and giggle. You connect with the fellow art-lover.

That was a new experience. Most often, at an art exhibit, viewers remain to themselves, hushed. Not here. We touched each other and laughed together and wondered out loud to each other How does this work? What do you see? In embracing our perspective and joy, the event embraced community.

I didn’t realize that until now, as I type the words.

This week, they break down the installations and pack them away for the next city (lucky ducks!). But because I became part of the art, the art became part of me.

Note: Artuality is a festival for artists and art lovers to share the place of art in their lives. Art has been a shaping force in my life. Through art, I encounter God,
am challenged to think in new ways, and see new perspectives. Art
influences my spirituality, my art, and my life.