Wednesday, August 2, 2017


I look through the trees at the glass windows. They are flaxen, though man-made, an architectural sun if there ever was such a thing. When I stare at the actual sun, the act negates itself; my stare is forbidden by unmitigated admittance. All possibility of future sight is left in shambles if I choose all potential sight in situation. The windows don't fare much better in terms of accommodation. The reflecting gold is so viscous that I am only left with an image of myself and outside surroundings, though the purpose of windows is to see through a priori. The teleology of the windows have become subordinate to contemporary aesthetics.


  1. I love this little ditty, Graham.

    A lot of we determine about our surroundings, by what we see, is what is not included. Our limited epistemology of the senses--the "frame's border"--is what gives photos like that meaning. If there were too much "stuff" in that photo, the bench and the trees wouldn't be what they were to us, would it?

    1. Thanks, Jay. I agree, minimalism can allow for much creative thought in relation to what is in the outside world. I think existentialists in general have done this very well, and so, I definitely took some influence from one of Sartre's fictional characters, Antoine Roquentin.

      At the same time though, I don't think you need complex thoughts about simple things to necessarily make them interesting. I thought about all this while looking at the picture, but when I was actually within the fountain area, it was all kind of mindless enjoyment.