iPhone Photo Chronicles ~ Footprints In The Snow ~ |
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There's a superficially charming tale called 'Footprints in the Sand' about a dream. In this dream the narrator talks about a walk along the beach with 'The Lord'. Sometimes there are two sets of footprints and sometimes only one. The single set coincides with the toughest periods of the narrator's life, and she berates The Lord for his absence during these difficult times. He, however (or rather the writer of the poem) does some nimble thinking and comes up with the excuse that those were the times when he 'carried her'. Hmm. Very cute.
i used to feel uneasily touched by this little story; touched because it was cute, and uneasy because I knew that it was nonsense and that i shouldn't be touched by it. Nowadays i get far more satisfaction out of driving myself crazy with some of the real, or at least far more intriguing questions in life. Such as why we get emotional about things we know are not real. Such as shedding buckets of tears whilst watching actors who have been directed to pretend to be performing certain actions or activities for large amounts of money. Or putting off reading the last few pages of a book through not wanting the excitement to end or the suspense to fade out or the intrigue to be revealed.
But what intrigue? What suspense? What revelation? It's all in the mind. We've invented it all! Perhaps we even invented the events (if we wrote the play, or opera or song) which would then give rise to these false emotions, thus doubly fooling ourselves. Perhaps if we did write a story which affected others emotionally we could get emotional about that. Would those emotions be 'realer' than the fake ones we've elicited or incited through our creative fiction?
i could feasibly get emotional watching the reaction of someone who reads the 'Footprints in the Sand' story and is touched by it, if i feel some attachment to the person themselves.
Would i also be touched by watching someone who really thinks they are being possessed by spirits during a voodoo ritual after having slackened their brains by smoking or drinking or eating some weird stuff?
Or by people who have convinced themself they are literally drinking someone's blood or eating someone's flesh (otherwise it's just booze and snacks) whilst also in a state of altered awareness due to hypnotic chants, evocative scents and impressive visuals.
Good questions, you may be thinking. Or you may be thinking what on earth are you on about. Or maybe you're just thinking... what?
Be that as it may, i'll leave you with my very own footprints in the snow. Not really 'my' footprints, you understand, unless i can claim some sort of proprietorship over them having seen them through my very own eyes, or maybe i'm only refering to the ones in my picture and not those which were on the left bank of the Seine next to Pont d'Alma and the entrance to the Paris Drains Exhibition. But then again, to be honest i doubt you would find them even if you did rush over there only a couple of days after this picture was taken. And if you did seem to notice some traces, I assure you they wouldn't be quite the same as the ones above. They wouldn't be ultramarine and cyan and lime and lemon and orange for a start. And if you click this link here even the ones you're looking at above will magically disappear, i promise you. Try it now. You'll be looking at the same bit of space and you can scroll all you like; those footprints, whatever they are, will be gone forever. It's all in your head, you see... By the way, what do you see?
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© 2010 Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free - Contact me directly for photo tours, interviews, exhibitions, etc.
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