Sometimes I find it interesting and useful to think about the fluidity of time, of memory. I've had occasion to see many science-fiction type stories played out in various media, and I am often drawn to thought about that common story arc, that of the parallel universe/time travel: often, one character, upon discovering that alternate realities of the reality previously thought to be the one true reality truly do exist, travel through the ubiquitous time-space continuum to a different, alternate reality.
The traveler does so for many various reasons: to avert some tragedy; to gain information; to start over; to become deus ex machina; really, to be or to do anything. Truly any number of reasons are given; that's part and parcel of the pleasure of the playing of ideas, from fingerpainting to string theory, that question begins it all: how would you like to play?
There is some strange comfort to thinking about being able to have access to such a thing. If time is like a river, moving along into the ultimate sea; or if time is like, say, moving along in a spiral as if tracing the continous coil of a Slinky-type toy with one's finger, wouldn't it be good to be able to move back upstream to leave a little sign, a little touchstone, for the ride; or to be able to convey a wish to stop thinking about the circles of motion (round and round) and begin thinking and feeling about the direction of motion (up and up)? To say, look, this is the picture.
Frida is one of my favorite painters. She speaks to me, as she does to many others, with a unique language of icons. It is accepted in art history that she did not wish to be known as a Surrealist; some say it started with her abhorrence for Andre Breton. She was not averse to labels, when appropriate; she just didn't care for the word in reference to her.
An eloquent lady in many languages, that Frida.
shown above, right:
shown above, right:
Memory, or the Heart, Frida Kahlo