Semantic notions about life: an exploration of words and signs, and the stories they are trying to tell.

sense

sense

The Hub, Tampa, FL, USA

The Hub, Tampa, FL, USA

sense /sens/

Noun. 1. Any of the faculties by which stimuli from outside or inside the body are received or felt, as the faculties of hearing, sight, smell, touch, taste, and equilibrium. 2. A perception or feeling produced by a stimulus; sensation.

You tell me you’ve developed a passion. How you capture in photographs what will become more difficult to remember as time passes, and the vision we take for granted starts to run a risk of decline. You select one of the thousands of images you've taken so far to share.

“It’s not exactly what I wanted,” you say. “What I had in mind.”

I ask you to not provide any further details, plead that you withhold the when, where, why, and how, so I can draw my own conclusions. At first glance, there are mountains in the shadowed distance, and a flood of amber rays from a sun that is out of the picture, but likely just about to set. In the foreground, a solitary sailboat on a calm lake, or perhaps an ocean at rest.

Through your photography, I will learn you are drawn to light. And later, how deeply you are drawn to mine. The shape of my face. The color of my eyes. The way my hair falls across them. The lines of my arms, my body. The size of my heart. That you love me. That you are in love with me.

That you wish, just once, right now, you could see everything with such perfect, 20/20 clarity.

And I will say, there are so many other ways to see. To be seen.

There’s evidence that if you start to lose one sense, those that remain become stronger. The lack of sensory input causes a sequence of events within the brain that allows the other senses - hearing, taste, touch, smell - to take over the roles left unoccupied. How this can actually improve the ability to move through the world. Allow us to experience things in a way the rest usually do not.

I examine your print again, and see a man adrift. Wonder where you are sailing to. What you are sailing from.

And tell you that this is not your last sunset, but just simply a sunset. A stunning second of solace. That there will be more.

That it’s not time, yet.

That you are not alone, or lost at sea. This is a harbor, and I am your body of water. I am your body. I am your water. Hear me. Taste me. Touch me. Breathe me. I am yours.

op·tion

op·tion

ar·chi·tec·ture

ar·chi·tec·ture