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Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath
'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.
This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.
In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.
Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.
This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant
Tali Tamir
August 2010
This is a metaphor for removing what was once a part of me .. in this case smoking (yes i am still sans le smoking) for such a small thing it was quite a big part of my life ... amazing how much time is taken having a fag !
sorry not visiting many of you (yet), but I will (promise). Just posting in between some major work. You know I love your picture, that's why you are in my contact (don't give up on me) :-)
My wife reckons she hasn't got quite enough decorations yet. I should make her read the following article that caught my eye in The Telegraph by Richard Godwin
Every year, as Winter tightens its grip, about eight million British householders venture into the cold, procure a tree, drag it home – and worship it.
We adorn the idol in silver and gold. We animate it with electricity, dress it with meaningful items – baubles, bells, angels, glass brussel sprouts in tiny santa hats – and attach huge moral weight to questions of tinsel. We say: “Welcome to the family” and give the tree the plum view of the TV, establishing a bond that crosses not only the species divide but the realms of the living and the dead – for the thing that brings us such cheer is already in the process of decay. In fact it was killed for our pleasure, literally cut off at the roots.
The Christmas tree ritual is perhaps the closest we come in 21st-century Britain to ritualised pagan sacrifice. It also happens to be my favourite part of Christmas – the only part that modern capitalism can’t quite poison, though Lord knows it tries. Even in an age of Pre-Lit Ultra Mountain Pine artificial trees and “Novelty Jingle Balls Adult Baubles” (£8.99 on Etsy), tree day retains its innocence. I love it all. The elemental tussle of wrestling a six-foot thing that clearly wants to be outside, inside; the resurrection of the Christmas playlist; the making of punch; the larking of children; the disinterring of the ornaments. (“Those guys from the Christmas decorations box. They’re fun, right?” as Woody reminds his fellow toys in Toy Story 3.) It all happens before Christmas has had any chance to become tedious or stressful.
So you can imagine how my heart leapt as I drove into Marldon Christmas tree farm near Torquay in Devon on a blue winter morning last week to be greeted by thousands of trees, in their own element, or close to it. The trees here are underplanted in a forest-like arrangement, most of them human-sized – three to six foot or so – but with the occasional 15-foot giant in their midst, destined for a hotel lobby or department store or town square.
Some of the trees are pre-decorated by families who have picked them out in advance; a crowd management technique because this place becomes extremely popular at weekends. Marldon’s clients have included the National Trust, the Crown Estates, the Royal Horticultural Society and 10 Downing Street, and the trees here are not the cheapest: £50 plus for a Nordmann fir. But what is on sale is rather grander than a mere tree – it is enchantment itself, complete with Alpine ski lodge, huskies, reindeer, a snow machine, and, it is rumoured, the big man himself, FC
“Christmas basically starts with a tree purchase, doesn’t it?” says Sadie Lynes, the founder of Christmas tree wholesalers Jadecliff, which grows around 200,000 trees across these sites in Devon, in addition to importing trees from Scotland, Ireland, Germany and Denmark for wholesale. “We see so many families come into sites like Marldon and for them it’s when Christmas begins. We all need a bit of feel-good with the climate as it is in the world. That’s what the Christmas tree symbolises. It’s the catalyst. Here we go. It’s Christmas.”
The practice of dragging evergreens into the home in midwinter actually predates Christmas. Some have interpreted this as a pagan tree worship. It seems equally feasible that our ancestors found a bit of holly, ivy and/or mistletoe cheered them up a bit during the darkest months of winter.
The modern Christmas tree ritual is, like so many Christmas rituals, a German innovation, imported to Britain by way of Prince Albert in the 1840s. As is tat. Baubles were invented in the 16th century by a German glassblower from Lauscha. Tinsel comes from 17th-century Nuremberg where it was originally made from shredded silver, though the word comes from the French étinceller, to sparkle. Apparently it was common practice in 16th-century Germany to hang Christmas trees upside down and, according to certain lifestyle influencers, this might make a quirky centrepiece to a 21st-century home – but this seems like a terrible hassle. Witch trials were also common in Germany in the 1500s too and there’s no reason to resurrect those.
In any case, Albert’s trees were the right way up. So is the Trafalgar Square tree that the citizens of Oslo donate to the citizens of London to say thanks for the war. Trees are of course a staple of Hollywood imagery too, White Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Life… though my favourite Christmas tree scene in a movie is the bit in Joe Dante’s Gremlins where one of the eponymous critters stages a surprise attack from between the branches of a tree. For all their cosy domestication, trees should remain a little bit menacing – a little bit other.
As for the British Christmas tree industry, that only took root comparatively recently. Sadie Lynes entered the business thanks to her father, Keith Fletcher, who began importing trees from the Ardennes forest to sell in his greengrocers in the early 1980s. “There wasn’t a supply in the UK back in the early 1980s,” she says. “A lot of them came from Belgium and Denmark. The farmers in the UK would perhaps plant a few in a corner of a field that they couldn’t use for anything else and would then wander back ten years later to see how it was getting on.”
The industry has seen rapid development in the 40 or years since then, many of which Lynes has spent as the head of the British Christmas Tree Growers Association, which has over 300 members. “It has gone from a product that is field-grown but without much care to a product that has been standardised. We prune, we net, we label, we palletise.”
Christmas trees tend to thrive on marginal land which makes them a tempting crop for farmers looking to maximise their land use. But they are not to be taken lightly. According to Marldon’s chief operating officer, Steve Gribbon, it costs around £1.50 to plant one Nordmann sapling and ten years for it to grow to a profitable size. “A lot of people say: ‘What do you do after Christmas?’ If only you knew!” A Nordmann requires at least two prunings a year to retain the desired rocket-like shape, both the top and bottom whirls (a “whirl” is the term for a layer of branches; the tip is called the “leader”; the soft green growth that arrives in Spring is the “flush”).
Let’s say you plant 2,000 trees in a field over ten years. You’ll have 20,000 trees to prune before the time you’ve seen a return. The costs of fertiliser and fuel have vastly increased in recent years too. “You really need to be set up well. A lot of farmers start growing trees and only later do they realise how much work is going to be involved.”
Compared to many other appalling rituals of Christmas – the mechanised slaughter of turkeys, for example, or the panic-buying of plastic nonsense on Amazon – the cultivation of millions of trees may seem comparatively benign. And yet it seems to attract undue angst. Witness the recent fracas in Italy, where various environmental associations from Trentino wrote a furious letter to the Pope urging him not to accept a 29-metre fir tree from their region for a “purely consumerist” Christmas display at the Vatican. “It is inconsistent to talk about fighting climate change and then perpetuate traditions like this, which require the elimination of such an ancient and symbolic tree.” The local mayor, Renato Girardi, pronounced himself bewildered at the fury, noting that the tree would otherwise be destined for the sawmill – as is fairly standard practise when it comes to forestry management.
The inherent absurdity of the business is not lost on Lynes. “It’s one of the most stupid business models out there, if you think about it,” she says. “You grow this thing for ten years. It has a four-week life span. And then it’s worth nothing.” Still, she’s being a little disingenuous about that. If cultivated with care, Christmas trees can be an exemplary circular business. For the ten years or so that it takes for a Nordmann fir to grow to six feet, it recycles CO2 into oxygen and provides a rich habitat for wildlife. Indeed it is precisely the sustainability of the business that attracted Gribbon to the industry.
He spent most of his career working in advertising before taking a “substantial” pay cut to come and grow Christmas trees. But as we stroll among the trees he seems almost unreasonably content. “It’s a lovely industry. When you get to the retail part, it’s nothing but smiles. And everything we do is about sustainable forestry. A lot of companies like to talk around the subject of sustainability. It’s very easy to greenwash things. But we’ve tried to look at the whole cycle.”
The trees grown here are processed in the neighbouring farm just visible over the hill, whereupon they end up as 3,000 tons of compost, used to help grow other crops: corn, wheat, more Christmas trees. Where underplanting is not possible, fields are rotated in such a way as to not strip whole areas bare in one go.
“We try and do it in such a way as to not disrupt the animals,” says Gribbon. “If it wasn’t like that, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
There is another element that is not usually factored in when the benefits of real trees are compared with artificial trees – which is how useful they are for fundraising. I should confess that I have some skin in this game. In fact, I am a seasoned Christmas tree salesman. For the last six years, I have somehow landed myself in a WhatsApp group of dads who sell trees on the first weekend of December. As someone who mostly pushes words around a computer for a living, this is a thrilling insight into what it might be like to do a proper job. We rise at 5.30am or so, head out nobly into the dark with our Stanley knives and torches to manhandle 150 or so Christmas trees from their pallets on the back of a lorry and line them up around the dark playground. Then, as the sun rises, the Christmas tunes come on, bacon sandwiches are prepared and everyone parades in to buy their tree.
The camaraderie is unmatched. No one is sad to be buying a Christmas tree. The last event raised over £2,000 for the school, a margin it is hard to reproduce in, say, bake sales. “It’s an all-round win-win and a joyous occasion to boot!” says Zoe, the head of the PTA. If anyone raises a query regarding waste, I will tell them that the trees are all grown just a couple of miles away, at Frenchay Forestry just off the M32 and the Bristol Waste Company will collect them for free after Christmas whereupon they will be shredded, blended, mixed and seasoned into organic compost; there is also a local hospice that will collect trees for modest donations.
Christmas tree fashions have changed. A couple of generations ago, the Norway spruce predominated. “Considered purely as a tree, a piece of living greenery, the Norway spruce hasn’t much to commend it,” notes Richard Mabey in Flora Britannica, who quotes a vintage poem produced by a cleaning company lamenting the tendency for its needles to get everywhere: “It’s mid-July, you cry out, ‘Waiter / What’s this in my soup?’ / He replies ‘Norwegian Tarragon / According to the cook’”.
Today, over 80 per cent of all Christmas trees sold in the UK are Nordmanns. This is a hardier variety that was apparently “discovered” by the Finnish botanist Alexander von Nordmann on a trip to the Caucasus in the 1830s (presumably the locals had been wondering what those green pointy things were.) The Nordmann has much to recommend it: its shapely whirls, its pert leader, its excellent needle retention. But much like a supermarket apple, its hardiness comes at the cost of character. It has almost no aroma, unlike the Norway spruce, which in turn has nothing to the “incredible scent” of the Noble fir, Lynes assures me. She imports these from Ireland. “If we can’t produce a tree ourselves, we try to buy them from where they thrive.” The chic thing these days would be to source a rare breed: a Fraser fir, a koreana, a lasiocarpa fir, a lodgepole pine.
There are of course commercial pressures on the Christmas tree. One is that everyone wants their trees up much sooner: “In my father’s day, we never sold a tree wholesale until the sixth of December. Now our wholesale season is already finished,” says Lynes. The thing is, the earlier you put up your tree, the sooner it will die. Lynes’s advice is to put it in water and replenish regularly; keep it away from any heat sources – underfloor heating is deadly – and ideally slice a layer off the bottom of the tree midway through the season to allow it to take in more water. “We try to say to our customers, ‘come on, you’ve got to look after your tree.’”
The primacy of the Nordmann has been challenged in recent years by the rise of artificial trees, which like artificial lawns and AI friends are increasingly hard to distinguish from the real thing. My parents were delighted that it took my sisters and me three years to notice that their tree spent most of the year disassembled in the attic. According to a YouGov survey, 60 per cent of British people planned to use an existing fake tree over Christmas 2022 and seven per cent intended to buy a new one, compared to 15 per cent who intended to buy a real tree. Interestingly, 54 per cent considered the artificial tree to be more environmentally friendly. In fact, it is estimated that it would need to be reused at least seven times for it to have a smaller carbon footprint – and this doesn’t take in such benefits as local employment, composting, charity fundraisings, nor the forever plastics in fake trees.
Still, Lynes is less concerned about fake trees than she is about supermarkets devaluing real trees and exploiting farmers. Lidl is currently advertising £11.99 pot grown trees. Tesco is offering half-price trees to Clubcard customers. “They’re kind of ruining the industry,” Lynes says. “At a farm or a garden centre, you can see the trees and you’ll know they’re fresh. You’ve got some degree of expertise too. Whereas the supermarkets are not really engaged with the products. It’s just there to help footfall. You don’t know how long it’s been sitting there. The margins are small and if they don’t sell them they’ll push it back to the farmers and farmers can’t live like that.” Many Christmas tree farmers have been left exposed by the collapse of Homebase, which has gone into administration.
But this is another reason why farms like Marldon are leaning so heavily on the experience of buying the tree. “Christmas basically starts with a tree purchase. I had a friend who bought her house based on where the tree would go at Christmas. For her that was really special.” Gribbon says that many local families come for the day and don’t actually buy a tree at all and he’s fine with that. “You can see, for them, it’s just an amazing day out. It might be their Christmas. You can see it’s a tradition for them and it’s harking back to the traditions of their childhood.”
It’s the ritual enchantment that’s the thing. T.S. Eliot wrote a late masterpiece called The Cultivation of Christmas Trees, in which he recalled the “the glittering rapture, the amazement / Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree.” For the 66-year-old Eliot those memories, unboxed each year, were “not be forgotten in later experience, / In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium / The awareness of death, [or] the consciousness of failure.”
The trees are themselves enormous metaphors. They sit there flashing in our homes, half-raves, half-shrines, reminders that none of us have long before our needles drop.
This series of three shots shows pairs of tundra swans rising, flying, and descending. Life is like that, don't you think?
We Chinese love our metaphors. We draw parallels between our daily life and nature at large. When we see a huge crowd, we'll mutter something like 人山人海 － which literally means "people mountain, people sea". As such huge importance (too much if you ask me) is levied on symbols and omens. For example, wear black on this day and you are asking for trouble!!! It's got to be RED!
So for Chinese New Year, we take great pains to all say the auspicious things to make sure we don't offend anyone.
So if you want to impress your Chinese Friends come 26th of Jan - Thanks Luunacy, Bozo here wrote 26th Feb - (the lunar new year), offer them 2 oranges and say - "Kong Xi Fa Chai" or "Kong Hei Fatt Choy".
The oranges symbolise gold and good luck. The Kong Xi Fa Chai just means "Congrats & Get rich, OK!!!"
Those with sharp eyes will notice that red piece of paper under the top 2 oranges... well that's all explained in my next post....
To understand the process behind this image follow this link to the photoset.
It's worth reading, to give some context.
Metaphors are funny things. They elude questions of truth and reality, and at the same time they produce truths and realities. They produce meanings and qualifications, frames of thought and action. They show things and aspects, and they hide other things. They compress and they decompress.
Especially when it comes to digital code they are extremely useful.
What's more, they are indispensable here. Without metaphors we have no access to digital code. We humans are simply not able to read or manipulate digital code, as this consists of bare inscriptions of difference, representing sets of numbers. We humans are strange semiotic creatures. We can interpret signs in almost any mode: graphic, pictorial, acoustic, object-like - some people are even able to interpret star constellations, iris patterns or coffee grounds. But we can't interpreter sets of digital numbers.
We need metaphors to translate these numbers for us. Metaphors are our access keys to the digital. They are the transcoding interfaces between human information processing and machine information processing. They connect our minds and hands with the machine, and vice versa.
Concepts as the electronic highway, cyberspace, or the global village are easily recognized as metaphors. But also that small mailbox icon on our desk top is a metaphor. And what about the desk top itself? Home? Menu? Button? Forward? Our computers are machines build of metaphors, the Internet is build of metaphors.
The Web itself is a metaphor, though a forgotten one. Who thinks of the web as a metaphor? It is so taken for granted. It connotates the vast system of html-pages, connected by hyperlinks and the http-protocol, it denotates non-linearity, decentralisation, criss-cross navigation, linking and connecting as you like. But if we take the metaphor seriously - that is: literally - we see some interesting things.
The web metaphor of course comes from the spider's web. Now this is a very centralised structure. The spider weaves it's web, according to a pre-formatted pattern, and then sits in the center, waiting for it's prey. This seems to be completely contrary to the web denotations of decentralisation, non-linearity and freedom, but after a second thought this indeed reveals something about the web's architecture. After all, the World Wide Web is based on clients (webbrowsers on our PC's) and servers (dedicated machines which store hosted websites at some provider). Servers and clients are connected in an unambiguously hierarchical manner. In that sense the web is more locally centralised than we usually acknowledge.
The web metaphor might suggest that we, the users, are the spiders, masters in the center of our self-woven web, waiting for our preys, ready to march out when something interesting hits our threads. But this only holds when we maintain a website or a webserver ourselves. As web visitors we are not the spiders, we are the prey.
I am not saying this is bad, and that we should refrain from visiting websites. And I am not saying this is good. I am saying this is good to hold in mind. Parsing metaphors gives you knowledge, knowledge about what is revealed and what is concealed. And that is good.
Now, recently a new metaphor emerged: Web 2.0. A new, revolutionary web, where YOU as a user really matter. (Apparently, and retrospectively, Web 1.0 did not really fulfill it's promises.) YOU are the person of the year according to Time magazine, because YOU do things on the web and make it better. YOU blog or write comments to other people's blogs, YOU leave messages, reviews, links and your IP-number on websites you visited, YOU create your profile and submit your list of friends to social networking sites, YOU upload your pictures to Flickr, your movies to YouTube, your bookmarks to del.icio.us, and YOU tag till you swag. YOU participate, YOU generate content, YOU remix content, YOU connect content, YOU are content. Thus YOU, and millions of other YOU's create network effects, collective intelligence, swarms of ideas, and new forms of sociality.
But, hey, where are YOU in the metaphor Web 2.0?
Well, nowhere. And again, I am not saying this is bad, and I am not saying this is good.
Let's parse this thing. The metaphor 2.0 takes up the web as a release of a software package. In the field of software manufacturing a release of version 2.0 implies:
- a new release after an older version 1.0
- a release which is not only patched but fundamentally improved
- the urge is to update/upgrade, or you will be lagging behind
- and though a software release need not necessarily be commercial, it certainly has a shade of branding and marketing.
What I like about this metaphor of 2.0 is that is focuses on software as such. Strange enough, this is rare in computing and Internet metaphors. Most metaphors indicating something digital lead our attention away from software; this one foregrounds it. That's special. What's more, I would say, this is good.
What is this software of Web 2.0, how is it different from the software of Web 1.0?
Without going deeply into technical details, we can say it is all about scripts and databases. It is about script layers on top of plain old Web 1.0 html-files - scripts which consult distributed databases with all kinds of data fragments. The more meta and website transcending these databases are, the stronger their network effects. The webscripts perpetually recollect and reassemble new dynamic compound 'pages' from these fragments. We are still thinking in the metaphor of the page, but in fact the age of the page is over. What is delivered to YOU are recollections of floating signifiers: tagclouds, lists of bookmarks and affiliations, search and review results, RSS-feeds. YOU provide the content of these databases, YOU distribute your knowledge, your traffic data and your social relations over these databases. YOU become a distributed data body without organs, a body of data fragments, wrapped in script layers. Like a mummy.
Thinking about what the software exactly does is good. Connecting this to what is does to YOU and your Culture 1.0 is also good.
What remains is the question: who are the spiders and who is the prey?
Written by: Marianne van den Boomen
This man makes great rhythm with anything that can be found in a kitchen. Great sounds with what he has. Making do and getting on with his art.
Writer workplace with raven silhouette made from splashes of ink. Typewriter, notes, pencils and papers on a light background with copy space. Creative writing concept. Dynamic shot with frozen motion.
I initially created the image without anything in mind. Its meaning sought during the #edcmchat yesterday when @maddiekp (quoted here) created this metaphor. @maddiekp 's profile and artwork is at www.flickr.com/people/92318598@N04/
To view the actual tweet go to twitter.com/maddiekp/status/302900217630576640
The depiction of fireworks was created with Fingerpaint Magic iOS app. The image was manipulated with Gimp
The original parish of Sibonga was a visita of Carcar since 1690. So when the town built its pseudo-gothic stone church in 1868, the influence of the awe-inspiring church or Carcar was evident: the arches, the ceiling floral panels, the one-nave interior and the wooden columns. The most dramatic feature is the mural by a local artist, Raymundo Francia. At close inspection, the details are folksy but the overall glow of brown and earth when bathed by natural illumination makes me realize the genius of the artist.
the Church of Nuestra Señora del Pilar of Sibonga, South Cebu, the Philippines
more pics and journeys in colloidfarl.blogspot.com/
BEYOND THE VEIL
SOLOMON’S TEMPLE and the ‘ARK of the COVENANT’.
A metaphor for communicating with the SPIRIT WORLD.
The Devil's Contract is an ancient belief that mortals can sell their soul to The Devil (or a powerful demon) in exchange for vast wealth and absolute power at the cost of being damned to spend the rest of eternity in Hell (or a similar dimension) : the belief in these Contracts allowed the infamous Witch-Trials that massacred many innocent people and has since entered popular culture as one of the most well-known Satanic tropes in media. It is perhaps one of the oldest and most recurring theme in many morality tales, theological discussions and fantasy of many genres - dating back at least as far as organized religion the idea of signing away one's eternal soul to Satan or similiar evil has become a lasting image of malice within the human mind.
The Devil's Contract can take many forms but has become most associated with a literal contract written by the infernal power in question (be it Satan, Beelzebub, Mephistopeles or otherwise) detailing the terms of the agreement and often demanding the mortal's soul after their death or (alternatively) after a set amount of time.
Once a living mortal agreed to this contract, a demonic pact was formed via many varied means, the most common in the public imagination was the willing signing of one's name on the contract - often in one's own blood.
Other ways of sealing a demonic pact could involve sacrifice (human or animal), consentual sex with the demonic spirit or recieving a mark from the Devil or a similar evil force signifying ownership (in witch-hunts it was common practice to exploit belief in the Devil's mark to accuse people with birthmarks or other skin defects of being witches and warlocks, despite it having nothing to do with the supernatural).
A deal with the devil (also called a Faustian bargain or Mephistophelian bargain) is a cultural motif in European folklore, best exemplified by the legend of Faust and the figure of Mephistopheles, as well as being elemental to many Christian traditions. According to traditional Christian belief about witchcraft, the pact is between a person and Satan or a lesser demon. The person offers their soul in exchange for diabolical favours. Those favours vary by the tale, but tend to include youth, knowledge, wealth, fame, or power.
Additional info:
In Abrahamic Religions, NOAH features as the tenth and last of the pre-Flood patriARCHs.
The story is all about the signs of the Zodiac - the Royal ARCH or ARK….
‘NOAH’S ARK of the COVENANT’ PDF Document Download Link:
pubastrology.files.wordpress.com/2021/10/noahs-ark-of-the...
_https://pubastrology.files.wordpress.com/2021/10/noahs-ark-of-the-covenant-revision-6.pdf
This image is a metaphor for the effects of time on memories. Just as a neglected image degrades differentially with time so do memories. Certain things persist (the bright colours of the gorse) but they do so in a defused matrix of other less well preserved/recalled details.
Modern Technology owes Ecology an Apology! - Alan M. Eddison
This is the last Tennis Ball Tree known to be in existence. It can be found off I-80 20 miles east of Wendover Nevada in Utah. A fence has been constructed to preserve this remarkable beauty. Some of it's fruit however has fallen and is rotting outside of the fence line for you to view. Go see it, and don't be afraid to stop. The Utah Highway Patrol have peculiarly posted signs nearby that state "Emergency Parking Only".
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For more information: www.roadtripamerica.com/roadside/Metaphor-The-Tree-of-Uta...
Maybe that modern work of art is a sad metaphor for today… what strikes me most is that more than one meaning can be got here…!!
Una metafora contemporanea...
Forse questa opera d'arte contemporanea è una triste metafora dei giorni nostri... quello che colpisce di più è la varietà di significati che le si possono attribuire...!!