The continuity of form in nature is as evident from an airplane window as it is within a microscope. From the air, the winding tributaries of a river can look remarkably similar to roots or lightening, capillaries, the magnified hairs of a honeybee, or a tear. Working from both points of view has altered my perception of scale and distance, and attuned me more to the interplay between scale and time.
Looking down from a moving plane, fractal patterns in one region might yield to pure abstraction in another in a matter of seconds, belying the actual distance between those points – quite different from looking through a microscope where an almost indiscernible adjustment of the focus can change the entire scene.
In my aerial reveries I think about the relationship between the incremental and the transitory, especially over southern California: passing over curious and fluctuating compositions, I’m struck by how much some of the scenes below look like sketches, even though that effect may have taken a millennium to evolve.
Meanwhile, the monitor attached to the backside of the seat in front of me recalculates “distance to destination” every few moments, and I also think about the point of departure, as the destination is woven into the journey itself.
Santa Monica Daily Press
Artweek LA/Huffington Post
© Rose-Lynn Fisher 2011-2020