Take a frivolous commitment like fashion. We make a statement with what we wear, and then, growing tired of the same old “same-old,” we commit ourselves to another fashion. Fashion. The word derives from the Latin for the “act of making” and more recently from the Middle English word for shape. Much of what we do is driven by fashion and the pursuit of the fashionable, the shapes that supposedly enhance us and make others take note. “Look at her.” Or, “Look at him.” “Wow!”
We are obsessed with shapes, not just the simple shapes of triangle, circle, and square, but also the shapes of cars, buildings, mountains, plants, animals, and, of course, humans. The obsession makes us watchers in an airport, bus or train station, or, at dockside as an endless procession of shapes catches our attention. We don’t need to talk to the passing shapes; we don’t need to establish relationships with them; we just need to see them in their indefinite variety. More than seven billion people on the planet: it would be entertaining if we could see them all, the short, the fat, the lean, and the tall. We love shapes. We like to see them; we like to be associated with them; we like to make them. But…
We are shapers who easily tire of the shapes we make or see. The design of this year’s car holds our attention until the manufacturer reshapes the model. A tiny shape change in taillights, grill, or bumper makes us look with renewed enthusiasm at the ensuing year’s model. We are in love with fluidity while we cling to supposed constants. We call the new shape “this year’s model.” It’s a Buick, a Dodge, a Mercedes. The retired coal miner states, “I’m a Ford man; I’ve always owned Fords, ever since I bought my first car in 1949.” Yet, is a 1949 Ford related in any way to a contemporary model by anything other than the name? The water always changes, but we keep the river’s name. Fluidity. It is, after all, the time-like quality in our material world. Names are the constants to which we commit while we commit to chasing the fluid forms they designate.
Shapes and fluidity: we keep them separate in our minds. But, as in the case of cars, for example, or dresses by our favorite fashion designer, we also mix them. “Oh, is that a Versace?” Or, “Isn’t that an Armani?” Fluid changes locked into a pattern of shapes that we recognize, just as we recognize a Ford, reveal our fixation with the unfixable. Fix it in time; nail down these constant shifts: By fixing the unfixable in the context of our changing lives, we think we defy the very nature of our terminal existence. We make continuities. We make constants. Constants are important to us, even if they are fictional. We get ourselves into a dither without them, and we feel restless, as though we were the fallen multi-colored leaves of autumn blown about by a November wind.
We are obsessed with shapes, not just the simple shapes of triangle, circle, and square, but also the shapes of cars, buildings, mountains, plants, animals, and, of course, humans. The obsession makes us watchers in an airport, bus or train station, or, at dockside as an endless procession of shapes catches our attention. We don’t need to talk to the passing shapes; we don’t need to establish relationships with them; we just need to see them in their indefinite variety. More than seven billion people on the planet: it would be entertaining if we could see them all, the short, the fat, the lean, and the tall. We love shapes. We like to see them; we like to be associated with them; we like to make them. But…
We are shapers who easily tire of the shapes we make or see. The design of this year’s car holds our attention until the manufacturer reshapes the model. A tiny shape change in taillights, grill, or bumper makes us look with renewed enthusiasm at the ensuing year’s model. We are in love with fluidity while we cling to supposed constants. We call the new shape “this year’s model.” It’s a Buick, a Dodge, a Mercedes. The retired coal miner states, “I’m a Ford man; I’ve always owned Fords, ever since I bought my first car in 1949.” Yet, is a 1949 Ford related in any way to a contemporary model by anything other than the name? The water always changes, but we keep the river’s name. Fluidity. It is, after all, the time-like quality in our material world. Names are the constants to which we commit while we commit to chasing the fluid forms they designate.
Shapes and fluidity: we keep them separate in our minds. But, as in the case of cars, for example, or dresses by our favorite fashion designer, we also mix them. “Oh, is that a Versace?” Or, “Isn’t that an Armani?” Fluid changes locked into a pattern of shapes that we recognize, just as we recognize a Ford, reveal our fixation with the unfixable. Fix it in time; nail down these constant shifts: By fixing the unfixable in the context of our changing lives, we think we defy the very nature of our terminal existence. We make continuities. We make constants. Constants are important to us, even if they are fictional. We get ourselves into a dither without them, and we feel restless, as though we were the fallen multi-colored leaves of autumn blown about by a November wind.
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