A beautiful yet windy day.....
Lying out in the sun, the very short, peaceful moments were interrupted by annoying gusts of wind sending tiny bits of sand onto my teeth, my sarong and into my eyes. Josh enjoys a whirl around the playground while Mikkael opts to stay at home with Mac and Runescape. I try to finish my book, The Element by Ken Robinson, while getting a suntan until I finally give up, pack my things and move over to the shell-filled part of the beach. Anything to avoid the irritating sand. The wind is too cold and does not help my suntanning objective.
I take photos of the landscape and beach-goers on my Nikon Coolpix hoping for anything that can be remotely-labelled as a work of art. To my usual disappointment, I cannot find anything even half as good. But I have always been a tough critic to myself. I have always thought I should pit myself against the masters and the geniuses. But I have never really studied them thinking I have some kind of talent hidden somewhere which will just manifest itself suddenly or slowly.
I have also realized I have always liked to record things - take a photo or write an essay - without basking in the moment. I have always not trusted that my own senses and my own memories of a beautiful sunrise, for example, would ever do justice to the actual spectacle or event. Hence, the need of an electronic aid or otherwise - the camera, the Macbook or the reliable pen.
Again, this is still a part of my search for my mission. Maybe be a historian or a journalist? Maybe Carlota was right? But wouldn't my being opinionated get in the way of my objectivity? Would I be happy telling people of an event? How much time would it take before I'd get bored?
Would my life be summed up by the photos I took and posted on Facebook? Where is the meaning there, the purpose?
Who cares about my thoughts and interpretations of people and events? Who cares about the stories I concoct in my crazy head?
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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