collaboration. the roots go back to the latin 'collaborare', which means: to work with ('com' + 'labore'). but is it possible that the work is no work at all, occurring as naturally as the flow of a river, and the 'with' - a dialogue in the mystery of the encounter?
I use Celan's words here, his famous description of the poem (which, however, can stand for every work of art) as an interplay between solitude and the Other:
"The poem is solitary. It is solitary and on the way. Whoever writes it is given to it for the journey. But does not the poem by that very fact, therefore already here, stand in the encounter – in the mystery of the encounter?
"The poem wants to reach this Other, it needs this Other, it needs a vis-à-vis. (...) The poem becomes - and under what conditions - the poem of a person who, as before, perceives, who faces that which appears. Who questions this appearance and addresses it. The poem becomes dialogue..."
I use Celan's words here, his famous description of the poem (which, however, can stand for every work of art) as an interplay between solitude and the Other:
"The poem is solitary. It is solitary and on the way. Whoever writes it is given to it for the journey. But does not the poem by that very fact, therefore already here, stand in the encounter – in the mystery of the encounter?
"The poem wants to reach this Other, it needs this Other, it needs a vis-à-vis. (...) The poem becomes - and under what conditions - the poem of a person who, as before, perceives, who faces that which appears. Who questions this appearance and addresses it. The poem becomes dialogue..."
two banal water bottles, hanging on a string, in front of countless windows: such an encounter is implausible, if not genuinely absurd, and yet everything combines so well, that one is led to believe that nothing can be more natural, that this is the way things are, or, even more, should be. beauty emerges.
Here, everything happens instantly, that very moment in which the line between the invisible and the visible becomes fluid and goes right through us, returning us to that which we truly are, the middle-ground between being and nothing. Merleau-Ponty's 'chiasme'.
I remember the simple story of my Japanese pottery Master, who told me one quiet afternoon, "I will rest when my hands have created the 無空有 bowl." mu-ku-yu, a word he coined himself, 無 (void) 空(emptiness) 有(existence): the unity of being and non-being. In this space we allow 無空有 to reveal itself, in the glimpse of a second, the butterfly wings' flicker.
I remember the simple story of my Japanese pottery Master, who told me one quiet afternoon, "I will rest when my hands have created the 無空有 bowl." mu-ku-yu, a word he coined himself, 無 (void) 空(emptiness) 有(existence): the unity of being and non-being. In this space we allow 無空有 to reveal itself, in the glimpse of a second, the butterfly wings' flicker.
--Roxana--
