On beauty and being wrong.
I recently read this book, On Beauty and Being Just. It talked about how beauty demands replication, with the simplest manifestation of this being the act of staring: the endless duplication of a moment for an eternity.
Ever since spring, I have been pondering over this roll of film I took—my attempt at replicating the beauty I was witness to—trying to decide whether or not I liked it. It was certainly beautiful being there. My photos do Japan no justice, especially since my camera was malfunctioning that day, with its jittery shutter button and fogged up lens and all. But I think there is something simultaneously poetic and tragic about trying to capture a dying moment with a dying camera on a dying medium.
Coincidentally, I think that these unintentional stylistic choices have made the photos reflect my state of mind at the time perfectly. It beautifully exemplified the serenity of wandering this foreign land all alone, the felicity of finding this specific moment in time—with a tinge of sadness from having no one to share it with—and the melancholy of knowing that this soon will end.
I had taken it upon myself to keep a record of the scene, knowing that I would be solely responsible if this moment was to ever slip into oblivion.
And I like to think that it’s a gentle reminder to myself that I exist, and that I was here.
Take a look at said roll of film:
