As the tapestry of “Transient” unfurls before your eyes, a whisper escapes – a murmur of the myriad lives that have danced upon the stage of our existence. A rhapsody penned by my own quivering hand, borne of a Sunday’s contemplation.
I mused upon the delicate tapestries of yesterdays. Not of past lives swathed in the mystique of the reincarnated soul, but rather the mosaic of selves that have donned our mortal frame. There, in the recesses of our memory, lie the echoes of bygone days - eras and epochs that molded and shaped us as clay to the potter’s will.
How many masks have we worn? How many chapters have we penned in the book of life? A young sapling blossoming into a tree, bearing the whispers of laughter and tears. Through countless doors, down winding paths, the selves of yesteryears flit like shadows – an ethereal masquerade.
As I conjured “Transient,” it was as if I wove together fragments of my own existence – the echoes of Lynn who wandered the green meadows, the Lynn who sought solace in moonlight, and the myriad others. Through stable diffusion, countless layers whispered their tales, each a life, each a breath. Melded together with the wizardry of Photoshop, they became a reverie caught in time.
And here I stand, the culmination of a tapestry spun through the ages. They are gone, and yet, in “Transient,” they live. We are but the sum of our yesterdays, the pilgrims of a journey eternally unfolding.
Oh kindred spirit, as you stand before “Transient,” may you too hear the whispers of your own tapestry, woven through the rivers of time. May the echoes of who you were embrace who you are, as we all waltz to the unending melody of existence.
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