It’s 2012 and I’ve become an emoji whore, responding to resounding questions and genuine comments with wide-eyed, kiss blowing smiley faces and double-heart icons, which (for a writer) is not only ironic - it is a travesty. But the truth is, i don’t have the words at times to encapsulate what I’m feeling. Can’t quite say where I am, or where I’m at in a manner any more impressive than a peace sign (that untowardly used to register to me as a Playboy bunny).
But today I was asked what color I was seeing. “Orange and lavender”, I replied. And though it may not have been enough to give anyone a clear sense of positive or negative, of stability or mobility, peace or transition - the profundity of color has always been what sound has been for me; a universe in which nobody is ever absolutely wrong, where nature inspires technology, and technology mobilizes by adhering to human nature. But what struck me as interesting was that when I said “orange and lavender”, my visual plane split into two. On the left, the picture of a sunset bleeding from my first to second color, bottom up. On the right? A screen. On the top, a solid block in Pantone 1645 C. On the bottom, a block in Pantone 264 C.
The computer. Has it taken over my brain?
Your concept of what works visually has been summarized from the days of basic HTML on MySpace pages, in the outfits you put together, and the way you’ve organized your room. It is your avatar, and your Twitter page background - the balance of the aesthetic on your Tumblr page. Nobody in this generation landscapes gardens anymore. I don’t know anyone that paints sunsets, or plates food, or knits sweaters. Everyone Instagrams them with conviction, me included, but the question that that poses really, is - how long until we forget?
Because as much as I use emojis, and find validation and expression in the assortment of little apps on my iPhone, I don’t want to forget.
The feeling of anticipating when the tape in your cassette is about to snag. The contentment knowing you have a pencil on standby. Pulling the tape out. Reeling it back in.
Dropping off a cartridge of film, not knowing what to expect. Hopefulness. Surprise. Disappointment. Learning how to do better next time. The process.
Getting paint all over everything. Your jeans, your shoes, under your fingernails, in your hair. Not having a “clear all” button to press. The weight and significance of every stroke, angling of the wrist, how your feet were planted on the floor, even.
The clacking of a typewriter. The glorious swooshing sound of starting a new line. Deliberate and intense focus on the letters. Finding flow. You needed conviction to press those keys. Not like these.
It’s a rundown topic, this whole new digital age thing is, but I had a moment today and wanted to share. So that maybe you too can stop and notice how you are evolving, changing, and you can step on the brakes or the gas - whichever seems more appropriate.
And I’m typing my little daily everythings all here today, hoping my computerized blog won’t let me forget.
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- withbrokennib answered: God sends us things to make us remember. Your color choices, reminds me of dawn and dusk. <3
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- patriciamalay answered: At the end of the day it isn’t that we don’t want to forget - it’s also that we want to be remembered. Hug from Manila. xx, Patti.
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- arlenetamayo answered: this post reminded me that I have two undeveloped rolls of films and two cameras with film still loaded in it. thank you. :D
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