The time-lapse episode I remember most vividly involved the delightful horror of watching a perfectly lovely bowl of fruit shrivel, go gray with mold and turn finally to a black liquid–a natural, everyday process of decay that took many hours, compressed into a twenty-second insight into the end of things.
About that time (maybe 1960?) in Look or Life or one of those glossy oversized magazines, I was smitten byÂ a series of images of a family, taken in exactly the same position on exactly the same day of the year for 40 years running.
The eye tracked the frames of the series through changes of period-appropriate hair styles and clothes–and faces, or course–from before the birth of the first daughter, through the grade school years, until new babies appeared, grew and changed. Before the end of the series, the father disappeared from the pictures.
The message was not lost on me, not yet a teenager, that this chronology of portraits was just another way of depicting the fate of the bowl of fruit. Aging is time passing through us, and leaving us altered imperceptibly every minute, every season, every year.
The world of motion and of change swirls around us and within us, even as time moved ever so slowly from one Christmas to the next back then.
None–ripe fruit or mature grandparents or perfect newborns–would avoid entropy’s inevitability. But my grown-old self knows too, none should be indifferent to or ignorant of the beauty of the human and natural procession of birth and growth and senescence that the eye of the camera can show us from this grand buzzing, swirling, pulsing spectacle of life-in-time to which our eyes have grown dim.
ThisÂ is the FOURTH excerptÂ from this topic taken fromÂ One Place Understood–a book in my mind only, maybe always, but at least until summer of 2018.