Vessels through time
Vessels through time is a visual exploration of heightened and suspenseful moments in a narrative or story. The moment where an audience decides if a story is worth or not worth spending more time with. It also seeks to highlight the theme of travel. Being in transit, transitioning or perhaps transfiguration. From life to death, light to dark or a bold step into the uncertain. In travel or travelling, is also an element of busyness. The body might be at rest, but the mind is subtly busy observing, taking mental notes. If we are busy in transit, how busy are we? What exactly does busyness in transit look or feel like? The world is a marketplace apparently; noise, trade and more transit, and there always comes that crucial moment in a busy scene or story, be it the exchange of money, energies and foul or sweet words. As a voyager, these heightened and sometimes important moments, are moments one will never again, not in this current voyage, see, hear or experience. These moments are also a kind of portal. A portal into the best or worst version of self and sense. One becomes more cautions, aware or observant. Portals signify the beginning and end of every journey, an entry and exit point in time. Each photograph has an element of opening within it, doors, windows or arches. My keenness to better understand such suspenseful and heightened moments during transitions of any kind and what it feels like, is somewhat explored in these photographs.
London. Like any other city, navigating it is sometimes convoluting. Its secrets are hidden in its numerous detail which many barely observe. Sometimes, apparent, other times vague and subtle. This quickens one's curiosity or leads to intense exasperation, most times causing the aspirant or migrant to reluctantly accept the cheap coats handed out by the system, shyly cut the according to their sizes and humbly trod along with other sheep. "Sheep with the heads of men spat acid...."
The heart wants what the heart wants, the soul, is mostly deceptive and crafty. As one journeys through life, frantically and patiently seeking greener pastures of some sort, in forms of love, better life experiences, a well paying job, for the musician - always trying to find the missing note, the photographer - one more picture. In these supensuful moments comes the inevitable issue of specifics. It has to be a certain colour, alignment, form, structure and style. The specifics are needed, in fact necessary. It is what separates the best from the great. This picture was taken from a fast moving train to the midlands. Of hundred and two shots, this image stood out and deeply resonated with me. The rest were merely distasteful and trashed without second thought. Endurance, faith, focus and a conviction of steel, the missing note will always be found. I briefly embraced the narrative of love being a fallacy and an escape from reality. However, after few thoughts and assurances I came to understand that love in its purest form is the basis of tranquility, the identity and actual reality in which humanity was first called to walk in. We all perfectly manufactured numerous ideological diseases against this fundamental truth. A vast majority of the people (including previous generations) caught it and never regained full restoration of their souls from its debased state. As for me, I shrugged it off and continued my voyage. He that believes will not make haste.
There are times, probably specific times, certain great men and women just appear, dictate the zeitgeist and never vanish. Their bodies might disintegrate, yes, but their works and ideologies remain and speak till eternity. This is what I sometimes think; the gods do interrupt in the affairs of men. Perhaps some of them chose to come down, affect mankind and exit through one of the numerous portals of death that are invisible to the naked eye.
I am reminded of Joyce Carol Vincent, the British woman whose death went unnoticed for more than two years as her corpse lay undiscovered in her London bedsit. Reading again about Joyce, ignited my long lost musings on loneliness and how one can journey through life with or without an intricate network of friends and still remain an unknown and strange being. To take a step back from all the madness and open up to another, is a task the loner will pledge to rather die than fulfill. Perhaps the bulk of it is the reluctance to yield to vulnerabilities of diverse kinds, perhaps not. Nevertheless, a loner didn't just become a loner. There has been a glitch somewhere. A glitch that has disconnected the loner's soul from his/her present timeline. The feeling of belonging in the past, future or being non-existent at all is the loner's soul struggling to understand its voyage or aimlessly trying find its place in and beyond this world. How does one come to come to an understanding of this? There are places we can go to remind and align ourselves with the journey and its purposes. For me, this has always been a place of prayer and meditation.
Death is only the beginning. The Egyptian book of the dead and other ancient spiritual manuscripts clearly understood this. Of deeds, we leave behind a piece of ourselves, in places, people and things, while we take away memories and feelings. Decisions are mostly made based on these. However, most importantly, it is the state of one's heart and its final conclusions on matters of all kinds; painful and beautiful, that counts. Rudyard Kipling's IF (poem) comes to mind. In the end, it is either the opening of books or the weighing of the heart against the feather of truth on the great golden scale.
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"And we all, with unveiled face, continually seeing as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are progressively being transformed into His image from one degree of glory to even more glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit..."
Dream of a land my soul is from
I hear a hand stroke on a drum
Shades of delight cocoa hue
Rich as the night, afro blue
Two lovers face to face with undulating grace, they gently sway then slip away to some secluded place
Shades of delight cocoa hue
Rich as the night, afro blue
Afro Blue
Songwriter: Mongo Santamaria
Song: Robert Glasper
'Into the Light' would be its title, if I was to write a film or play based on this photograph. It strongly depicts the inevitable phases of one's life; ups and downs, good and bad. Into the light connotes one's conscious decision to keep fighting and keep swimming in the waters of life to avoid drowning. Perhaps in this conscious decision, one can learn to walk on water. The light strengthens, energises and reassures one of a utopian end. Here in this picture, although the anonymous man in the middle ground is photographed walking in light and there is another phase of darkness or the unknown after which comes eternal light. This sits in the background of the photograph. In his brief experience with the light, he is more aware and draws strength from it. There is power in the moment of making a positive conscious decision. But some would rather sit in darkness bound with fetters of chain and iron and yell, 'It is none of my business'!
I remember few years back, about age 12 or 13 thereabouts, reading an English version of The African Child, an autobiographical French novel by Camara Laye published in 1953. It tells the story of a young African child, Baba, growing up in Guinea. I could rarely relate to Baba, as I was this middle class child living in the largest city in West Africa. But it left a feeling of compassion and a will to rewrite the narratives of the African Chid in remote and undocumented areas of the continent. This feeling would later resurrect itself within me during my recent visit to Nigeria. Unlike myself, many of these children will never see beyond the borders of Africa, but they do know of "overseas" and of planes that transports travellers of all kinds to this mysterious place. As a traveller between both worlds, how can I bring the worlds I've experienced and easily traversed into that of the African Childs' ? This is on my list of problems to solve.
The biblical story of Jacob's stairway comes to mind. The idea of messengers or extraterrestrial beings ascending, descending and having some form of interaction with mankind isn't new to history, or pop culture. Such narratives are embedded with themes of deliverance and a savior complex. The individual, tribe or people, need direction, they look up to these messengers for guidance. Trump's election to carry the torch of democracy along with its messages of optimism has proven to be disastrous. Among his supposed cloud of witnesses sitting at the pinnacle of their high rises, is division and gnashing of teeth in regret at the fact that they have unwisely selected the wrong messenger, who only came to escalate the chaos. At least for Jacob, he asserted that God was present and he knew it not. For us, coming to the realisation of Trump's presence, we know that hell is empty and all the demons are here.
The intriguing thing with delicate and cherished moments is; every second of the happening or event instantly becomes the past and an unveiling of a new aspect of self. You decide if such moments make you become more or less human or superhuman in some cases. In this picture are two complete opposite individuals who are also strangers. One tall, the other short, one light, the other dark, one beardless, the other bearded. They overlooked their differences, bonded on a dance floor and became friends. By breaking walls of social awkwardness and ceasing the moment, which seem to have presented itself as an appropriate vehicle, they travel into the future. The blur is just a mere testament to their moment of transfiguration, speed, and agility. In peeling off layers of ancient lies and coverings, we become awed with our new found version of self and come to a vivid understanding of who we are supposed to be.
Call forth those things which be not as though they were. The act of calling is an act of faith. Like walls and other inanimate objects, expectations too have ears. They usually heed if one's call is worthy and sincere. They might seem adamant at first, dragging their feet as they travel towards the caller. At other times,they are swift and instant. However there are situations where expectations might be delayed in their voyage to the caller. Obstacles might range from self sabotage to captains of industries reluctant to grant it clear access. But who ensures expectations meets the caller? The story of Daniel and the Archangel Micheal proves to be a worthy analogy.
...And they spoke endlessly for hours and hours without being bounded by time and without stopping to wonder where it went.
Our present reality is one in which worlds collide. The lines between light and dark, the beautiful and the grotesque are blurry and unpredictable. Few years ago, we thought the world had finally come to its senses when it elected Obama and made Megan royalty. Apparently, it turns out this isn't the case. Trump and Brexit has undone almost a decade of healing from unpleasant pasts. Nevertheless, those of us who dwell in the light and are able to think constructively, should not relent in bringing deludes into the light, this is our primary assignment. As people of light, whose mental, moral, spiritual and intellectual compasses still point north, it is our duty to uplift the consciousness of every delude and it sometimes involves reminding them of the past to come to a better understanding and clarity of the future.
Social mobility is a form of travel. The busyness and fight to finally arrive at one's supposed promised land sometimes seems endless or perhaps worth the try. On this journey, characters, traits and habits are shaped. One becomes or un-become. Some are lucky to possess with them a well detailed map as guidance for their voyage, others, not so fortunate. Let's not forget to understand that the low income demographic the Great Gatsby Curve speak of are mostly people of colour, who are in one way or the other suffering from generational stress and the bulk of it is formless. Examining why we climb the social ladder is vital to the climbing itself, it appears to be another way of lifting off the burden of climbing. My thinking is; it is the duty of each generation to push the next forward, not on the basis of pomposity and selfish interests, but for the sakes of fulfilling positive collective interests.
Orwell's 1984 predicted the advent of tele screens that dictated instructions to the proletariats. It was also used as a form of surveillance to further the agenda of the totalitarian state. In our attempts to transmute this tool of terror to one of pleasure and nothingness, we have unconsciously helped shaped totalitarian agendas by adopting sousveillance: the recording of an activity by a participant in the activity. On this premise, the Big Brothers relinquished their positions and status as big and brothers. They are now partners, having noticed that data is the new oil. Our fears, interests, and aspirations are mined, packaged and presented to us in forms of appealing and suggestive directions. Presently, social media moulds, shapes and break lives. Cambridge Analytica was just the genesis of it, can't wait to read of more scandals.
There's something about a genuine celebration of life, milestones and achievements. Within it are elements of thanksgiving, joy and retrospection. In such moments is where the past meets the future, a glimpse and taste of the kind of life that awaits one, if the same lifestyle is replicated or positively intensified. This act form of foreseeing or time travel if we can call it, sometimes presents itself in forms of friendships, relationships and the kind of mindset on which these are built on.
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"...Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever..."
Like I've previously done with other aspects of self, I am starting to claim the divine right of being a creative, writer artist or whatever it's called these days. Traversing fluidly and effectively between the worlds of absolute pragmatism and maximum creative madness. The thing is, it's taken moments of moulding, shaping and doubting, to finally have the courage to travel into this phase and time. Portals into this time seem to have masqueraded itself in forms of unwanted circumstances and experiences. Again, moment of suspense. As a result of these dark times, I could have willingly yielded to becoming a cold hearted, chronic capitalist without regard for life and death. Nevertheless, on being called to defend my reason for existence, the whispers and burdens of the living and the unborn, whom my words and actions are to heal became a beacon of light. I chose life. Importantly, it should be noted that this should not be mistaken as lament, or cry for pity but of an unshaken belief that the experiences I speak of is a perfect prewritten script of which I am merely an actor. Since the door into this time has been opened, let the persons of known and unknown solutions act unapologetically.