Expect magic from life;
watch the world with glittering eyes,
look in the corners,
and in the smallest of places.
Simply by gazing with earnest intent,
you may find what others overlooked all along...
The world is full of magic.
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”
“/ɪˈfɛm(ə)r(ə)l/
1. Lasting for a very short time
1.1 (Chiefly of plants) having a very short life cycle”
“/ɪˈθɪərɪəl/
1. Extremely delicate or light in a way that seems to be not of this world
1.1 Spiritual”
The words ephemeral and ethereal have always interested me. Not only are they beautifully put together with all those 'e's and 'l's and things, they also convey a sense of beauty and magic. The word ephemeral applies to those things that are transient in this world - fated to live only a short time. The word ethereal denotes a thing of great beauty and fragility; something so delicate it is almost otherworldly. Put these two together, and you have a description for life itself: fleeting, delicate, and beautiful.
All of life seems to fit inside these words - animals, plants, humans, stars. All things are transient in their own way, ever-changing, momentary. And in that sense, life is delicate. Hanging by the threads of the three fates, life will be snipped away, and then rewoven anew.
It is that balance of being and non-being that makes life beautiful, ethereal even.
Other things may be ephemeral and ethereal:
Experiences, for instance.
The scent of cherry blossoms, caught on the wind.
Dreams and wakening.
Our own shadow.
Bubbles and seafoam.
It is the nature of these things that interest me, and this is my motivation behind my ongoing artwork using living plants to create bodily adornments.
When my next door neighbour was about seven years old, she came across me, frolicking and taking photos in the backyard. She liked to walk on over to our place from time-to-time, to pat the lambs and knock on our door looking for adventurous companionship, (or a peanut-butter sandwich). Boundaries meant nothing to her at that young age.
Intrigued, Abby asked me if she could 'have a go' with the camera, and then proceeded to take over the rest of my afternoon, bossing me about while taking a bazillion pictures. At some point, we found a small, blue, broken eggshell lying under the shadow of an old macrocarpa tree. Abby took some of the most beautiful photos of that egg, placing it delicately in trees and bushes. I watched as her mind formed a kind of story with the blue egg, the pictures illustrating her tale...
