‘Simple forms harbor secrets beyond our comprehension. We project onto them an enigma, a symbol of some kind or a message that needs deciphering’. From the Simple Forms exhibition, Mori Art Museum, Tokyo.
When I began writing this blog it was to explore more viscerally and consciously my wonders . To access more that ‘oh!’ moment upon seeing something that causes wonder, and in doing so, find the ‘meant’ (the meaning).
It has been awhile since I have written a comment piece or poem here. Life has been speeding along…work, relationships, family. But on a recent trip to Japan with my partner I realised how much I missed this space as much as I began opening my eyes to things outside the above.
A wonder-full thing it is when it appears that the universe is conspiring to help you find what it and you knows has been missing. Upon first arriving in Tokyo three weeks ago my partner and I stumbled across an exhibition in entitled, Simple Forms: Contemplating Beauty. This was to be one of many encounters I had overseas that reminded me to delve into the poetry of the everyday. A pebble. Light. Air.
As the quote above suggests, on simple things we give meaning. As if an ‘enigma’, we decide something simple cannot only be as it is, it must mean more. In an art gallery this is a typical assumption – a straight line painted on a coloured surface must stand for mans linear trajectory. Or is it phallic? Or could it be that the artist did a lot of road trips and is reminiscing about the mesmerising white line along the concrete road he drove upon.
Get my drift?
The ‘simple form’ takes on whatever meaning you give it. It takes place in the relation between the sum of things you are (your history, how you feel at that moment, perhaps even the environment/ conditions in which you are experiencing the form) and the thing itself. The picture above for instance, a piece you could view at the exhibition… I was exhausted when I sat down to watch it move with the air blowing from underneath it. I only knew I was however when I saw this piece and so I thought that the artist must have meant for people to relax when they saw the work. It was like breathing.
All through my trip I decoded the enigma of the simple forms Japan presented me. They all told me similar things funnily enough – the creative energy that the moon can bring, the hum underneath stillness (I heard it as if for the first time then realised it was always there I had just forgotten to listen!), the whispering of trees and streams…
My break from writing was not because I had not been creative, far from it in my line of work as a drama and literacy teacher, but because I had not given time to simple forms. To relationships between myself and beauty.
And beauty, truly in the eye of the beholder, sends the kinds of messages that fuel creativity.