animals and so-called lifeless
rocks as well as water."
- John Muir (1838 - 1914)
- John Muir (1838 - 1914)
- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)
Nature
- Alan Watts (1915 - 1973)
Postscript. My last post explained what my recent series of "autumnal abstracts" has to do with quantum mechanics. This post is meant to convey the complementary explanation of what my autumnal abstracts have to do with Zen. Leaving aside the unintentional recursivity of the word "complementary" (since the concept has a formal meaning in quantum mechanics), here is an alternative summary of how using knee-high waterproof boots to get "up close and personal" to patterns of leaves in the creek - ostensibly to get better compositions - failed miserably. As I explained in the last post, no matter how slowly I approached a clump of leaves, invariably, the ripples induced in the water by my boots would dislodge one or more of the key elements of whatever composition I saw in my mind's eye. By the time I stood over the spot where I saw the original pattern, most of the leaves were gone. Here is where the Zen side of story begins...
The first day I donned my boots, it took me about a dozen attempts to learn how to "minimally disturb" whatever it was that caught my eye; to emphasize, not one, two or a few tries, but an embarrassingly many attempts. It was vastly harder than I anticipated. At some point - after my 3rd or 4th failure - I dejectedly poked my tripod into the water, angry with myself at being unable to do such a "simple” thing. So there I stood, knee-deep in water, immersed in a euphonious Siren call of delicately beautiful patterns I so wished to capture but which vanished the instant I approached them, when the absurdity of it all finally struck me like a Zen-master's cane! I doubled over with laughter, as multiple versions of Alan Watt's "the harder we try to catch hold of the moment..." aphorisms leapt to mind.
Adding to this genuinely Zen-like moment was the fact that two joggers just happened to be close enough to see and hear me. They both turned in unison to see what the source of the absurd laughter was. Without breaking stride or uttering a word, they just stared at what from their perspective must have seemed a "not quite all there and possibly drunk photographer" and ran off into the woods. I laughed for a few more moments, resolved to remember this little creek's Zen lesson, and resumed searching for interesting and evanescent patterns.
So, are my (still ongoing) "autumnal abstracts" a lesson in quantum mechanics? in Zen? or something else entirely? In the end, it's all just a matter of perspective 😊
- Werner Heisenberg (1901 - 1976)
Postscript. At the end of my last post, I promised to explain what my recent series of "autumnal abstracts" (which I started in mid September) has to do with quantum mechanics (yes, quantum mechanics). The simplest explanation (sure to induce a mild groan in readers) is that since my left-brain "day job" is anchored on my being a physicist, physics in general, and quantum mechanics in particular, is never far from my thoughts 😉 But no, that's not the full explanation. The real connection is part whimsy and part serious (the serious part is expertly summarized by one of the founding fathers of quantum mechanics, Heisenberg, above). As I explained in my previous post, I've recently been "rewarding" myself after long work days by driving to a local trail that runs along a shallow leaf-strewn creek, and spend however much time remains before the sun goes down searching for intimate compositions of leaves, rocks, and reflections within the water.
For my first few outings, I had no issues. I would park myself on the little bridge I need to cross to get to the trail from where I leave my car, set up a tripod, and use a telephoto zoom to isolate patterns of interest. Here is a taste of what I see from the bridge:
The solution was simple enough. I put on a pair of knee-high waterproof boots, tucked in my pants, grabbed a waterproof (well, water resistant) tripod, and started composing "up close and personal" in the water; or so I thought. I immediately ran into an unexpected "quantum mechanics"-like problem: after seeing some pattern of interest (say, some combination of leaves, rocks and reflections), I would naturally walk over to get a better look and see where to best anchor my tripod. But no matter how slowly I approached, invariably, the ripples induced in the water by my boots would dislodge one or more of the key elements of whatever pattern caught my eye. By the time I got to the original composition, the pattern was either gone and/or replaced by another only less than half as good. This happened over and over again, no matter how slowly - ever, so slooooowly - I walked toward some entangled leaves. A text-book (albeit, whimsical) example of the well-known, but no less mysterious, quantum mechanical "observer effect." The analogy actually runs a bit deeper: while observer-induced perturbations also happen in "classical" physics, the difference is that quantum mechanics does not allow the observer to reconstruct what the "true state of the system" was after observing it; the act of observing the state irretrievably scrambles it. Just as, in my case, "seeing and moving toward a" pattern of leaves irretrievably destroys it. (BTW, at the risk of overloading most readers of a photography blog, it is worth mentioning that entanglement - a subtle nod to which appeared in the phrase "entangled leaves" - is another inherently quantum behavior that is best left for a future post) 😊
- George Berkeley (1685-1753)
A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge
- Santōka Taneda (1882 - 1940)
- Maurice Tuchman (1936 - )
“Hidden Meanings in Abstract Art"
in The Spiritual in Art: Abstract Painting 1890-1985
- Halldór Laxness (1902 - 1998)
- David Bohm (1917 - 1992)
Note. These are all reflections off of cars I took with my iPhone this morning to help break the monotony of sitting in a Nissan dealership waiting for my car to get serviced. As I've repeatedly noted on this blog, images - heck, veritable universes - are everywhere 😊
Of course, this was not 'hearing' but I do know that the tones and harmonies conveyed to me moods of great beauty and majesty. I also sensed, or thought I did, the tender sounds of nature that sing into my hand—swaying reeds and winds and the murmur of streams. I have never been so enraptured before by a multitude of tone-vibrations.
As I listened, with darkness and melody, shadow and sound filling all the room, I could not help remembering that the great composer who poured forth such a flood of sweetness into the world was deaf like myself. I marveled at the power of his quenchless spirit by which out of his pain he wrought such joy for others—and there I sat, feeling with my hand the magnificent symphony which broke like a sea upon the silent shores of his soul and mine."
- Helen Keller (1880 - 1968)
A letter by Helen Keller to the New York Symphony Orchestra,
printed in The Auricle, Vol. II, No. 6, March 1924
- Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1934 - 2021)
Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience
- Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1934 - 2021)
Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience
(See "Unlocking Creative Flow: How the Brain Enters the Zone")
- David Bohm (1917 - 1992)
- Alan Watts (1915 - 1973)
- John Muir (1838 - 1914)
Nature Writings
- Clarice Lispector (1920 - 1977)
- Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 - 1926)
Translation by Stephen Mitchell (The Enlightened Heart)
- Alan Watts (1915 - 1973)