#37: The Luxury of Looking
"I think, that we should have the luxury of observing one object slowly. I hope, that my sculptures could be such soul-resting objects." Kinga Földi, fiber artist
Last week, I shared an essay by L.M. Sacasas, entitled "Lonely Surfaces: On AI-generated Images." I also described the deceleration and immersion assignments created by art historian Jennifer Roberts. Both of these writers consider deep looking, and prompted me to ask the question, "Do the things we look at devolve or deepen our experiences of the world?"
Given the speed at which events have been unfolding since I wrote my first Finding Throughlines post here at the end of March, I suspect a lot of us could benefit from a chance to decelerate and to have an immersive experience in something beautiful rather than shocking or despair-inducing.
I've covered a lot of ground since last spring in the act of reflecting on my Learn, Imagine, Act materials. At the beginning of a new year, it feels like a good moment to just pause a bit, not write quite so many words, and to share with you Kinga Földi's concept of a "soul-resting object."
Földi is known for sculpting organic forms from delicately folded and stitched silk. Her sculptures often magically capture movement, and definitely reward slow observation.
But the "luxury of observation" doesn't apply only to art, and it doesn't actually require sight.
Perhaps your deep observation takes place through hearing, touch, taste, or smell. Whatever it may be, I bet you can bring to mind several things that, as you engage with them with time and intention, truly do feel soul-resting. And if you're having difficulty accessing this luxury in your current environment, I urge you to spend a little time with your own best memories or favorite old photographs. Or pause in your activities and choose something pleasant to do very slowly, like sipping a hot drink or eating a favorite food.
I like returning to this weathered New Hampshire tree in my mind's eye. No, it isn't the most beautiful tree I've ever seen. Most of my photos of it are taken through a porch screen, so they aren't even great pictures. But it is a soul-resting tree. From the porch of a friend's cabin in the woods, I've sketched and slowly observed it across a quarter of a century's summers. When I feel tossed in the maelstrom of human injustice and suffering, I draw on my encounters with this tree, for rest.
When the forces of commercial culture most want you to be chasing the next shiny object, practicing slow observation can be a radical act of self-preservation. And we have so much personal say in what the soul-resting object might be: your favorite coffee mug, a handful of shells or rocks you picked up along the way, a tangerine you've just started to peel. Maybe you will share some of them in the comments?
I wish you the luxury of many such moments in this coming year. Thank you for reading and sharing.
