a moment (photography)/ trenutak (fotografija)

"Great sculpture often follows the lines of the human body: yet the repose of great sculpture suddenly transmutes those human lines to something that has an absoluteness, a purity, a beauty, which would not be possible in a living mobile form."  The Timeless World of a Play, Tennessee Williams

These words by Tennessee sounded right from the moment I have read them. It is not something that I haven't read before or that haven't been said before, for the nature of art is a theme never quite exhausted. The first thing that comes to my mind when I think of them are the sculptures in the Mestrovich's gallery in Split. It's this beautiful villa near the sea, full of works by (probably) the most talented Croatian sculptor.

You can imagine how I feel when I'm in there, like a child in a candy shop. Last time I was there (ages ago) I made the mistake of taking the guy I was dating with with me, but even that didn't ruin it for me. It now occurs to me that the only thing I remember with fondness about him is his speaking Papiamento. Unfortunately I never learned Papiamento, but it fueled my fascination with languages which never left me...as my fascinations with shapes...and hence sculptures and paintings. Perhaps that is the very reason why I like taking photos. The temptation of freezing the moment sometimes feels as a commanding as only the desperate hunger or thirst can feel like.

Taking a photograph of something saves it in a way. Does it? Or does it also change it in some way? Suddenly a mountain is not just a mountain... As for example when we have stopped (about half an hour before Split) because one girl was feeling car sick. 

We stopped and I have taken a breath of fresh air, my eyes (as often) being centered on the mountains. Soon they moved to the reflection of the trees in the water and it became 'a moment'. You know what I'm taking about, one of those times when you feel overwhelmed with beauty...for nature lovers it often happens in the nature but really it can happen quite anywhere....even while shopping (though I must admit that only happened to me once and if you're curious the object that quite moved me had been a kitchen)...that moment when you feel touched by beauty. Those moment I believe happen not just because of what we come across or what catches our eyes but even more because of that something that is insides of us, sometimes that responds to that beauty....

Beauty seems like finding something we have believed to be forgotten...Yes, there is a bit of magic in that moment. Tennessee spoke about plays in his essays, comparing plays with sculptures (for have not all art forms related? Greeks were surely wise to consider muses sisters). Today I have spoken about memories, something as unreal as art.  For are not memories frozen in a moment? How real can they be? My memory seems tirelessly precise to me sometimes, I have never had a black out in my life, yet who knows is the way I remember things to be trusted. Maybe my hunger for art is sometimes so great that I transform people into objects of my fantasy. An upsetting thought...but do I not remember old lost friends in colours, scenes, rhythms?...with a sense of sadness that comes after a certain amount of years....That sense of sadness is often what feels most real...but who knows? Some of these memories may have fallen victims to my fancies...who could say?

 

*all images taken by me about a week ago