The colour of wind

 If a man talks in a forest and there is no woman to hear him, is he still wrong?

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I am a bit late with this (life is still hectic for me) but there have been some interesting discussions recently pertaining to a particular question: why does a photographer take a particular photograph over another? Not, why does someone make photographs but rather, as Paul Maxim put it in a comment to his post on the subject, why do we photograph what we do? And if we choose to spend a few hours making images of birds or flowers or street scenes or whatever, and then pick one from scores of others to represent that effort, the next question is why that particular photograph? What is it about that one image that separates it from all the rest? What do we see that makes it “work”?

I first explored this subject in “A question to a muse” where I asked “Why do I make pictures when I go out even though I have no real intent to make pictures?”. On the surface these questions appear easy to answer. In my totally unscientific surveys where I ask such questions to friends and sometimes random people in the street or in parks who are in the process of photographing or drawing or painting, I find that there is rarely any hesitation in answering. I say rarely because on the odd occasion there is, well, not so much hesitation as a serene pause usually accompanied by a contemplative, far away look. An inward look maybe, though that may just be my imagination. And when they utter their answer it is simple, like in all the other cases but somehow laden with meaning.

Having said that, Paul mentions in his post that a shallow answer like “just because” is not good enough and I tend to agree. However I must admit that I also find myself with the thought that “just because” may, in reality, be a perfectly good answer. But my nature being what it is, I am still led to wonder, how exactly, would such a simple answer be satisfactory?

As I tend to see things, when these sorts of questions arise they do so out of some innate thirst to understand what makes us tick. A connatural need to perceive our own nature. Quite likely the search for self has been around since Adam first donned a fig leaf but if that is the case then that thought alone begs the question: why the hell haven’t we got an answer yet?

As far as the photography related questions are concerned I see them as subtle invitations to be introspective. As such they have the potential to create some discomfort but equally they can lead to some realisations that may help make sense of life or at the very least, my photography. But while I would not say that it is vital or important in terms of what I do with my life, I do see introspection as an activity that has the potential of deriving great benefits. Furthermore, within the realm of creating art, such questions are indeed vital because the answers pertain directly to the artwork being created. I would even speculate that perhaps, the ability to answer such questions meaningfully is what differentiates the creative from the artistic. Who knows? By the way, I am not suggesting that artistic is superior to creative. Merely that art may simply be creativity with extra meaning. In any case, as I hinted in the title of my original post on this topic, I use such questions to amuse myself. Taking them too seriously inevitably defeats their purpose.

In the West self-contemplation is often associated with meditation, sitting still with a calm and quiet mind. This is rather odd though; trying to discern’s one’s natural state by doing something that seems so… unnatural.  In Tai Chi I was taught that the most formidable enemy was mind and that it could not be defeated through force or concentrated effort and that while the mind was active, awareness could not be fully realised and form (the Tai Chi moves) could never be “pure flow”. To achieve pure flow I first needed to achieve stillness of mind which, I was told, could be achieved through confusion. In Zen such confounding is done with koans — paradoxical anecdotes or riddles that have no solution or answer. The idea is that by posing such a question the mind will immediately try to solve or answer it though logical means and accumulated knowledge. And since there is no logical answer the mind eventually gives up and quietens down at which point something often referred to as enlightenment or awakening or other such concept supposedly happens. However, all new-age, touchy-feely, mumbo-jumbo aside, what you are actually left with is awareness. Pure and simple. Paul’s question, to some extent, serves that purpose even if it’s perhaps not quite as paradoxical as the sound of one hand clapping or the colour of wind.

Over the years I found that when introspection is done from a particular perspective, such as photography, it allows for a focal point which is less intimidating than looking directly at myself. By that I mean that there is less chance of self-deception. However it is less direct and it is quite possible that the answer or the anticipated result of gaining some kind of awareness is not achieved for a long time. If at all. But what I have found is that I invariably learn something ethereal about my craft and this can sometimes lead to some small revelation about my own nature. What is interesting however is that such revelations usually emerge as feelings, for want of a better word, which are beyond the intellect and therefore beyond words. And at such times “just because” may seem like a perfectly appropriate response. And a simple answer that has come from a long inner search may be more venerable than the same answer given flippantly or carelessly.

I dare say that introspection appears to be a journey that is ineluctably leading me back to where I started, where “just because” is indeed good enough because there comes a time when the words, for all their mesmerizing qualities, just get in the way.

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Once upon a time a teacher presented a young student with a question…

Teacher: What is the colour of wind?

Student: [to himself] What the hell? Wind doesn’t have a colour. Does it? What are we talking about here hot wind, cold wind, cyclonic, breezy… I mean, like, what the hell man… what kind of dumb ass question is that? How do I answer something like that? Shit! Okay, okay, let’s think about this. It’s probably a trick question. There’s got to be an answer or the old dude wouldn’t have asked it. Right? Maybe he’s lost it, I mean shit, the guy’s gotta be between 80 and dead right? Probably senile right? Damn I’m hungry. I wonder what’s for dinner.

One month later…

Teacher: Do you have an answer for me?

Student: No Sifu, not yet. [to himself] You got to be freaking joking right? Last week when I said that hot wind was red and cold wind was blue you shook your head and walked away. I mean how about a freaking clue you know, like was I close? I mean can’t you ask me something easy like… I don’t know… like what time is it? And I could answer something really deep like “Now”. But no, I got to figure out what colour the freaking wind is! Give me a break!

And so it went on for months. 

Then, many years later…

The ex-student is out walking, camera in hand. The sun is warm on his face, the air is perfectly still. He stops in his tracks for no apparent reason. He closes his eyes. He can smell rain (or is it just the promise of rain?). He turns around, opens his eyes and sees storm clouds forming in the distance. He raises his camera and catches the last of the sun’s light reflected on a pylon rising above the trees like an iron giant. Thoughts of a movie pass by. He lowers the camera. He smiles for no apparent reason. As if on cue, the air stirs around him. Mindlessly he watches the clouds roll in. There is no thought, sweet silence. Ahead of the clouds, the wind races through the trees to greet him like an old friend. “Do you remember me?” it whispers. “What’s my colour?”

And just then, in that moment, an answer comes. Timid. Silent. Wordless. Just awareness, just being. The rules of time and space fade away. The question never mattered and yet it meant everything.