Discovery...

I discovered an unusual website yesterday. It intrigued me. So I wandered around a little on it.

My path to it was a little whimsical, yet also a bit melancholy; Somewhat reflective of my mindset, present mood, and the attitude I find myself gripped by at this time. 

We'll start with one odd, obscure, little word...

Basorexia.

(n.) The overwhelming desire to kiss.

Comical in a sense, yet pathological in another.


The word piqued my curiosity though. I suffer from it, I admit that. But not because I have to kiss, but because of who I want to kiss! 



Yes, Aimee sent me the word; my closest companion, love of my life, dearest friend!

So, back to this winding digital path. From there I found the word "sonder." From there...

Vemodalen...

And THEN, liberosis!

They're all interesting words. Liberosis though is the only one which I would have been able to define, at least to a point. It's an interesting word. It's roots are easily researched, defined and underscored.

Liber and osis.

Osis is of course a functional disease or condition.

Liber finds its origins in the classic-romantic languages, English not being one of them!

Liber; freedom, French. Libre; balance, Spanish.

The symbol for the English pound is an L, crossed; balance. Of course we have the zodiac sign of Libra or the Balances.

"L"a symbol of balance or, better yet, equality... and value.


So my strange delving took me to this definition;

Liberosis;

the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully...

  The fear of losing one's freedom because the cares of this world seem too daunting...

I'm a walker, a hunter, a gatherer, a wanderer and traveler. I always look forward, backward AND from side to side. As I walk I also take photos. I take lots of photos. I have files and files of photos on my computer. I have albums and boxes filled with prints, negs and slides! I hope each new image will capture something new, something memorable, something unique. But quite often this is not the case!

Vemodalen!

 the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.

That's one sobering word! Especially for a landscape photographer like me.

So then we come back to that second little gem of a word...

Sonder... 

 the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

For those in our midst who are "micro managers" or worse, narcissists, this must be a terrible feeling!

During the middle of the nineteenth century, the art and science of photography took a hold on the world. It is impossible to live a day now and not somehow be affected by a photographic image. Photography allows us to capture a moment-in-time, create an image and show it to the world. What would we do without it? Or better yet, what did we do without it?

Once upon a time man used oils, pigments, charcoals; he reproduce the visions he had of the world. He reproduced peoples’ faces: scenes of combat, scenes of beauty: landscapes and cityscapes: urban and rural.

With the advent of photography, the reproduction of life as we saw it became obsolete: at least to the painter. Because of this the age of Impressionism happened.

The age of Impressionism gave us Monet and Renoir. We were shown the talent of Alfred Sisley and Mary Cassatt. There are the beautiful scenes of harvest by Pissarro and the harbor scenes by Morisot.

But what of the greatest Impressionist of all time? A Canadian. Tom Thomson.

Tom was born August the fifth 1877, and he died in his fortieth year of unknown causes.

But he died doing what he loved and in the land he chose to recreate for the world to see: on canvas and in oil.

On that day he set forth in his canoe with his paints and fishing gear. His body wasn’t discovered for many days later. But the treasures he left Canadians are there for all to discover.

Each time that I wander into the bush, whether with my camera, fishing rod or rifle, I’m looking for that same scene that Tom Thomson saw when he gave us Jack Pines.

Tom Thomson recorded for us a Canada that all Canadians should have a great appreciation for. He gave us the Birches, Jack Pine and the Pool. Tom saw Canada as we all should. As beauty, serenity and as proof that God exists. Because Canada does.