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essays

Window Worlds

exploring a thin slice of universe

 

   Even though the timing and subject matter seem to suggest it, this is not a lockdown project. It isn’t solitude turned art and my muse wasn’t named Quarantine. As a matter of fact, I have yet to be constrained by any rigid lockdown measure although I have been asking for it in three different countries so far. One of them had imposed a strict confinement prior to my arrival, and another introduced it after my departure.

That this series of photos could very well be born in a lockdown home is mere coincidence. My senses weren’t sharpened by isolation, nor did I actively look to find and shoot the extra in the ordinary within a tight domestic radius, when one night I spotted a whole cluster of galaxies in the frosted glass of a bathroom window I had known forever.

"My previous obliviousness to the obvious, to something so strangely beautiful, can only be attributed to the eternal sleep of the wake, the attention lost in everyday attentiveness."

My previous obliviousness to the obvious, to something so strangely beautiful, can only be attributed to the eternal sleep of the wake, the attention lost in everyday attentiveness. Now, a closer look revealed hidden worlds populating this thin layer between inside and outside, dynamic worlds that were not trapped inside the glass but moved through it most elegantly, popping into and out of existence wherever light met the eye at the right or wrong angle.

Streetlight, brake light, flashlight, bubbly light, dark light, bright light, light light; every light was its own realm in this thin slice of universe. And each one had its own temperature – purple, orange, green, red – neighbors and strangers along the color spectrum coming together in an orgy of textures.