The Language of Perception
By Leda Spiranec
As Dave Chapelle said, ‘the beauty is in the attempt’, and often it is not only crucial what we say to each other, but also how we attempt to do it. That disregarded factor of ‘how’ is what makes or breaks the connection. So, it is not only about what the message is, even though its importance is irrevocable, after all it is the meat of the ‘delivery’, but also its medium. As prophetic Marshall McLuhan said, the ‘medium really is the message’. It wasn’t only his envisioning of the world and understanding the trajectory of media and its growing importance, but also his conclusions that were/are malleable and versatile enough so that they can be applied to a wide range of topics and fields in life that seemingly have nothing to do with media.
As is the case with human communication, which then can be translated into art. Different styles of communication, though practiced perhaps lovingly, can sometimes lack clarity if they are not harmonized. In the art domain there are many occasions that not only deal with that as a problem but offer a craved space for continued conversations that in best case scenarios lead to neatly wrapped conclusions.
Faithfully reaches out for dreams
just like me
reaching through the darkness
Faithfully reaches out for dreams
just like me
reaching through the darkness
So from this I sip on the source of all humanity, aka hope, that every problem carries within itself the holy part of the solution. Then the only thing left to do is to make that change of perspective, leading to the change in perception. And this is how we arrive at the solution. Just as the aesthetic and artistic appeal can be seen in homo sapiens’ behaviour when say… expressing passion through tango, pure agape love through spiritual oratories or the expression of romantic love by the troubadours, we can also notice them in animals. A seemingly simple Japanese puffer fish could probably hold creative workshops for us, ‘the almighty people’, about sand reliefs which are executed with mathematical precision, and we still wouldn’t quite understand them. Then the master, Professor Fish the Puffer would come and once again blow us all away. The whales with their mystically beautiful and soothing melodies parry the symphonies of Debussy’s or Brahms’…
…What about Birds of Prey?
Well, here is an imaginary sneak peek into what could happen in their world, just as much as it happens in ours, the world of planet-destroying-for-some-reason-humans, where we are all familiar with the best intended wrongdoings to our loved ones simply because our love languages differ, and we neglect them as part of the problem. Perhaps we can try to use art to properly translate our feelings and thoughts, differently expressed and received, to our designated souls. For the beginning, let’s just see how these Vogelkop Bowerbirds, while vastly advanced in their numerous skills and their use of aesthetic appeals in their mating rituals, still failed in communicating their feelings to each other. I pray for you, dear reader, that you won’t do the same. Be better than the rest of us and these two sad cases of Vogelkop Bowerbirds.
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Lost in Translation
Lost in Translation
HIM:
‘What we’ve got here is failure to communicate. I’ve been collecting, building, working on this for years. To be embarrassingly frank, I have started building this bower since I had my first dream about her. I was young and hopeful in my aspirations. And she was lovely, granted we never uttered a sound between each other (OR OURSELVES), but I could tell she was the one for me. With her round, dark curious eyes, resembling those of deer dung, the same one I have carefully piled up right here, just for her, she stirred my imagination. From then on, I started practicing my vocal imitations, and building my bower. Thinking of how to best attract her and showcase my devotion to her. Wishful at first, to end up wistful.’
HER:
‘He never asked. He just did stuff. I knew that he noticed me. I knew he knew I took interest in him. It’s just that he never bothered to talk to me. He only assumed what I am thinking, what I like or dislike. As if I didn’t have thoughts and feelings of my own, like I am only to be impressed, politely waiting from a distance, in my passive mode. No. Not like that. Like I, myself don’t go through changes and have things to worry about on my own. But there was something about him, nevertheless. I admired his skill with bower-building and late at night I would sneak from my own to listen to him practice his vocals. I admired his persistence, but I didn’t appreciate how he persisted in his own vision of me, as if the unity of love only depended on one individual. In real life both unique individuals agree to see to what extent their capacities accommodate each other, and then they meet each other halfway. But. But he only lives in his head. Surrounded by his comfortable dome where nobody and nothing challenges him, except for himself. He even put his bower the farthest from anyone else’s so he wouldn’t be in any proximity to show his work to others. No risk taking, safe in his own bubble. Coward.’
HIM:
‘When she would just come and see all that I have done for her.’
HER:
‘I know I sound too harsh. As if I was perfect. So, I’ll do the thing he doesn’t do. I’ll take a chance. I’ll go up close to his nest and see what he’s been up to. How he envisioned me. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps he understands me better then I give him credit for.’
HIM:
‘Is that her that my eyes see or am I hallucinating? No, she is coming closer. She is! Oh, the excitement! I should give her time. And space. I will let her be in my dome. Let her feel comfortable on her own, and I will retreat into my chambers until she decides. She should have the freedom to inspect. To see all my care for her materialized in different berries, red and dark ones I collected, and especially in that deer dung. Hope she sees the resemblance.’
HER:
‘Oh, wow. I see them. I do, I do. The red berries, oh he noticed how I like them. I do also enjoy an occasional dark one too. Although, not to that extent. But how does he know? Did he see me picking on them some time ago? I want to ask him, to talk to him, but he, he…where is he? I cannot find him for the life of me. Oh, well I might as well look at the whole thing by myself if he is not going to show up.’
HIM:
‘Perhaps I should sing for her to let her know I am still here, but unintrusive. Months ago, I made this compilation especially for her. I call it ‘The Lovers’ Mixtape’. I offer the sound of the nearby creek, I also have covers of some other artists that I know she likes, plus a strange sound I heard weeks ago, never before, must be one of those two-legged naked creatures with one big eye in the middle that produces that sound. I thought why not? To offer a little zing, end on a high note.’
HER:
‘What’s that? The sound, oh it’s nice, oh I like it, oh wow, on no oh oh no. That is…curious. Also, what’s this on the ground? Looks strange I must say.’
HIM:
‘I think she likes it. But I don’t see her. I should maybe peak for a bit. Oh, yes, I think she finally noticed the dung pile, in honour of her beautiful eyes. At first, I was puzzled when fungi start to grow on the dung, but then I thought what better way to tell her how special she is to me then let them grow and be the special effects of this whole display.’
HER:
‘The duck is this?! Why does he have the biggest pile of dung in the middle of his display? How on Earth could he think I would like this?? OH NO! I see what he is doing, he is mocking me. He thinks of me as nothing more than this pile of dung. It even has… what is this…fungi! It has a growing colony of fungi on it. Oh heeeeee! Oh, somebody, save me from this disgrace, and I thought he liked me, and that perhaps we understood each other on some level. All this time he was mocking me, for how could he, the great thinker and builder, take a liking of somebody like me. Oh, if only I had known. And that is why he left me here alone also.’
HIM:
‘She is flapping
her wings. Must be excited. Or no. Why is she shaking her head? What did I do
wrong? Perhaps she didn’t quite catch it. Perhaps I should come out and
explain. Alright, deep breath and one foot out and the other…oh…oh no! She flew
away! No! No! No! But whyyyyy???’
HER:
‘I have never been this hurt in my entire life. Maybe I should go and see what Chuck is doing. He has always been there for me; we could talk about anything. Perhaps he will get me better.’
When we attempt to communicate with each other, no matter how flawed we do it, it is still beautiful and worth it.
When we attempt to communicate with each other, no matter how flawed we do it, it is still beautiful and worth it.
