It is the tremble of anticipation, the held breath. It is found in the exact second when the parachute does’t open, in the lingering space between fingertips when lovers part. It is the infinitesimal moment between my girlfriend’s sleepy eyes lighting on me beside her and her first morning smile.
To capture beauty is to restrain its infinity, its abundance and its multiplicity. My story is about the transience of beauty as manifested by Antonio’s successive failure at capturing his lover’s face. What we have left of beautiful things is their essence and our memories of their existence but even that eludes most of us sometimes.
Our concept of beauty stems from our consciousness of the passing of time. The five senses guide us through our days and every so often a composite image, person, or scene has the capacity to activate our emotions and blind us with desire.
For humans, beauty is chance and randomness, but, still, even without our witness, beauty is forever present. It is made from the various combinations that exist within and around us, and just as the possibility of experiencing beauty is a function of the aforementioned, so too is its creation.
What I do know about complex things like beauty is this: when we reach the silence of ourselves, and really listen to it, I hope it becomes an instant which spawns enlightenment, clarity and comprehension.
True beauty is recognized by a physical change in us – a quickening of the pulse, a short intake of breath, a jolt of excitement followed by deep tranquility. Beauty inspires lofty thoughts and provides joy upon remembrance.
Part of what we do as writers and artists is generate and focus perception. At times it’s an ordinary thing that catches me, the amazing shape of a strawberry. And what about the textures of music and dance, the emotional angle of a painted glance, words that express what’s beyond words?
the sort of beauty that intrigues me is a smaller, more skittish idea. It’s something that appears in unexpected moments and disappears before it can be adequately captured. It is subtle, intangible, and easily missed.
In short, it’s not the object that is beautiful; it’s the transmission that happens between the object and our gaze — all that we felt and comprehended and realised we didn’t and hadn’t.
Beauty is each impulse that makes us drop the dishcloth, the phone, the remote — so we can pick up a pen, a paintbrush, a camera to “fix” it in some form and try to make it our own.
I recognize the intensity and magnitude of a glorious happening; it’s that which leaves me awestruck and stupefied. It’s that which surpasses my physical self to touch the very essence of my being.
The way colours combine, textures of light, the depth of an infinite sky, or the blue-black gaze of a newborn child’s eyes. All these lift consciousness to a different level. How words ignite a page, the physiological response to a mother’s touch, the magic of a lover’s kiss.