Is this a woman ?
Of course not. To paraphrase the mighty
Magritte, ' This is not a woman ! '
This is digital information, creating a display.
This is an icon, an image, presented upon a
computer screen.
Amongst other things, this image is visual
information, that is, it is text.
However, if this is text, it is most definitely
not amenable to unlimited interpretation.
It is a symbol, a delineation which refers to
something else, something which we all
comprehend as the entity attached to the
word ' woman '.
This is cross-cultural, transcending languages.
Whatever the word, whatever the conception
of femininity, woman is archetypal, like sun,
moon, sea, land, mountain, river.... like the
silhouette of a hand spray-painted on a rock.
The text speaks. We recognise, because of
what we are. We ARE the acknowledgement
of these things. They are us. Their recognition
resonates our essence.
You are certainly entitled to interpret this
image as a frog, a buffalo, or an alabaster
jar, but your interpretation is highly suspect.
Just as you are entitled to claim that you
are, in fact, Napoleon Bonaparte, I am entitled
to enquire as to the whereabouts of your
uniform, your medals, your army, and to
question your inability to speak French.
The hermeneutic cycle, by which various
interpretations of meaning are reinterpreted
through new encounters with the text, is,
in fact, constrained.
( Thank God for small mercies !
and in this case, quite a large one...)
Interpretation is not unlimited !
A range of interpretations is possible, even
inevitable, but the range does not extend to
infinity in any direction.
The image may or may not resemble some
particular woman, that is certainly open to
debate. We can argue about style, nationality,
age, mood, there are plenty of characteristics
in this image, this face, which we could try
to analyse, and possibly never reach any final
agreement. You may assert that she has a
twin sister, I may assert that she is in fact
the niece of an eminent Bulgarian diplomat.
Your mother may insist that she looks exactly
like a distant cousin who emigrated to Utah.
Our friend in the corner may interject his
deeply held view that she is actually a boy.
All fair enough, I suppose. She may be any of
those, and more besides.
But a telephone ? A sewing machine ?
An albatross ? A yacht ? A salamander ?
You've got to be kidding ....
Yes ? No ?
Look, there in the shadows ! Is that a useful
piece of rope, or a deadly venomous snake ?
Quick, pick it up !
Yes, I do know that some people can't tell the
differance between salamanders and women.
Or yachts and women. Or even women and
women.
And let's not open up the topic of men and
women, or we'll be here for days...
But, just for a moment, imagine a space, a
clearing, an arena within which to dwell.
And, within this precinct, interpretation is
indeed unlimited.....unbounded by any
constraints whatsoever....just possibility,
extending to infinity, in every direction...
Yes, that's where madness reigns, and it's
terrifying, because there is nothing to cling to...
But, forsooth, this IS our reality.
There is never anything to cling to.
Never was, never can be.
Although we all delude ourselves otherwise,
because we are mere fragile mortal things
and crave comfort and security.
We all arrive, spend our lives busily drowning
and clutching at all the straw, ooh, what fun,
ooh, what tragedy, ooh, what horror, ooh, how
very interesting it all is... and then we depart.
So, why not have the courage to leap into
the abyss first, die first, play it at its own
game ? Then you are free to live. The straws
mean nothing, because you don't need to
cling any more.
Let go of everything, and everything is yours.
The great Musashi understood this, cruel
butcher that he was.
So did Heraclitus, whose noble remark,
' immortals are mortals, mortals immortals:
living their death, dying their life ', has
baffled the brittle-brained academics and
the narrow-minded scholars who can't
understand anything but the most rigid
and dreary logic.
If it is truly empty, there is nobody to fear
annihilation, nobody who fears madness,
nobody who could be mad, just an infinite,
exhilarating fountain of creativity which is
producing the world each instant, out of
nothing at all.....
" My mind in the flash of a trembling glance
came to Absolute Being - That Which Is. ."
St. Augustine.
TOP. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NEXT.
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