Dear Regular (and those not so) Readers,
Welcome to another edition of the Sagan Speak newsletter and I hope it finds you all well.
Do you know what Pareidolia means? I didn’t until yesterday. Apparently, Pareidolia is a kind of psychological phenomenon that comes in to play when we look at things around us; for example, I often look at pavements/sidewalks drying out after it’s been raining to try to pick out shapes of animals and birds or just interesting shapes. I sometimes look at clouds up in the sky to see what animals and other things I can find in their moveable changing shapes.
It’s interesting because of course we don’t all see things in the same way; for example, I will point at a tea or coffee stain on the kitchen countertop in my home and get all excited and say to my wife: “What do you think that stain looks like?” and she’ll say: “It looks like a/an ………, doesn’t it?” and then I’ll say: “Do you think so? Don’t you think it looks like a/an …?” To which she’ll sometimes reply: “Ah! I see, yes, it does look like a/an … “ and other times she’ll reply: “You have a very funny idea of what a/an (whatever it is I think can see in the stain) looks like, do we have the same image of what a cat is supposed to look like or are we just looking at a different stain?”
I’ve always had an interest in trying to find the shapes of things in other things around me whether it’s a dog in a coffee stain, an item of clothing like a dress in a paint stain or a crumpled up tissue that I pull out of my pocket that resembles a person posing in a certain way, but I’m not sure exactly why. I have often thought of taking this interest a stage further by drawing or painting the art I come across in the shapes that nature creates around me, but as of now it continues to remain a thought.
Until next week, I will leave you with a few lines of poetry that I would like to think somewhat makes a connection with my interest in Pareidolia. Keep safe until next week!
Pareidolia
If you’re looking for it, art is all around you.
It appears on the ground when it rains and if you’re not careful it shows up on clothes inside eating stains.
You can easily pick it up on the bottom of your shoe and let your carpets at home do the rest.
But this idea is not a practical one to pursue as if you did you would suffer for your art as most artists do.
My particular interest in art in stains created by nature will I am sure remain indelibly.
I’m quite good at picking out images in stains on cracked pavements made from rain mixed with mud.
Strong images on an oil stained concrete drive made bolder by the regular movement of car tyres over the relentless drips of oil.
Sometimes holes in an old string vest will do their level best to merge together to create an image that catches the eye.
Images seen in clouds drifting by and in the earth’s atmosphere imposing on us the colours we see in the day and night sky.
Sounds of industry escaping through open office windows and factory doors and firmly into the ears of passers-by.
A few will attempt to put these sounds to music in the hope it is part of the legacy they leave behind before they say goodbye.
With most the sounds they hear will quickly disappear and unaware the moment is lost forever they miss their chance to try.
The temporariness of art can be seen very clearly as long as the weather doesn’t change.
Snow and ice frozen to the ground chiseled into shapes and images by feet of all sizes frightened to lose their grip.
Wild ripened rosehips fallen to the ground and trodden into colourful shapes by the same feet frightened to slip.
This art will gradually fade until it’s all washed away which will inevitably be on the next rainy day.
Shapes of different sizes and textures created by the movement of feet on floor mats that change colour according to the direction of the nap.
A chalkboard’s worth of text written in different hues cleaned with a damp cloth and left to dry.
Shapes on the now dried but thankfully carelessly cleaned chalkboard waiting to be picked out by a finger in the air and a well trained eye.
I am addicted to picking out images from accidental or purposeful spills on floors and other surfaces, but I am unable to explain why.
A poem by Stephen Austwick