If you cannot make your thoughts indirectly (and accidentally) perceptible, then do the reverse – make external things directly (and arbitrarily) perceptible. Which is as much as, if you cannot make your thoughts into external things, then make external things into thoughts. Both operations are idealistic. Whoever has them both perfectly in his power is the magical idealist. Ought not the perfection of each of the two operations be dependent on the other. – Novalis
Being stuck in a place where you know you don’t quite fit in. Reality presses down, relentlessly oppressive, and yet, you’re not allowed to leave.
What happens when you trap a dreamer inside a prison where the word ‘spirit’ is nothing but a myth?
So, I close my eyes. When I open them again, I create with scraps—little pieces of fantasy. I find clusters of magical irreality in these spaces, and for fleeting moments, I can escape. I know they don’t truly exist, for such a magical world can only be found in these photos. I deceive myself, and in doing so, I deceive you too.
Empty fields stretch on, seemingly without end, as skies shift endlessly, reflecting colors only found in the mind of the most idealistic poet. But even within these worlds of dream-like beauty, darkness still lingers. The trees, twisted and bare, reveal the mercilessness of life. Alive, yes—but in what state?
Enjoy these gifts of bliss that appear only before me, and now, I choose to share with you.