Jeff came in from his studio last night carrying an old doll’s head and a rusty piece of iron welded to four wooden casters and declared, “I’m running out of junk. I need to get more.” The lighting piece in this photo is made from junk, er, found objects, including part of a vintage boat motor Jeff found in the park where we run. One person’s trash is another person’s treasure, and all that. It’s all about perspective.
I’m big on perspective. Everything is perspective. Its archaic definition is “an optical glass, a telescope.” That’s definitely different from the naked, unadulterated eye. Even nowadays it can mean both an actual, physical view or a mental one, outside or in. Then there’s the visual artist’s definition as it relates to giving the illusion of depth and distance.
A hundred people can look at the Mona Lisa and each have a different opinion. What’s that fable about the six blind people describing the elephant? The one touching the trunk says an elephant is like a rope. The one touching the belly says it’s like a wall. The one touching the tusk says it’s like a pipe. And so on. Some people think THE BABADOOK was great; I think it needed 10 more minutes of scary to make it ascend into awesomeness. As a writer, I can look at what I’ve put on the computer screen and see it differently than what’s on the page out of the printer.
I can look out at the rain and be glad it’s watering my flowers. An hour later I can be frustrated because I want to get out and weed said flowers and not get wet. Perspective.
Age changes perspective. So does time. Space. Information. Education. Wealth or poverty. It’s relative, right? I’m reading Slaughterhouse Five again. Haven’t read it since I was in my 20s. I know my perspective is going to be different now.
I love that. It makes life so interesting. Everything is perspective.
And dare I say it, perspective is everything.