at the keramiekmuseum princessehof in leeuwarden (2018’s european capital of culture), johan tahon exhibits ‘monk’. the large reflective ceramic sculptures, dripping with tahon’s familiar glazing technique, are both soulful and sad, as if they are either contemplating their confined existence or remorseful for their sins; even as a group they exude a solitary spirituality.
what are they searching for? release, redemption?
exactly what i thought of the other passengers on their phones.
the trip by train from amsterdam crosses the strange terrain of flevoland, an area reclaimed from the sea after wwii; appearently the world’s largest artificial island and now lined with rows of giant wind turbines; one remains acutely aware of its distinct man-madeness.
fiction; invented or untrue
reality; the state of things as they actually exist
the answer to why we need fictional realities is probably the same as why we need religion, in fact it may even be a new religion. a faster global modernity which plays through ceaseless impersonal connectivity appears so overwhelming that one can easily understand how our feeling of irrelevance came to be so prevalent.
is it the limitless cappuccinos which plague the privileged, or concerns hiding between beta-particles in genetic manipulations, is it the the socially conscious who bleed daily for suffering minorities or the traders struggling to calculate the economic impact in billions while even larger players create profile parameters from algorithmic generators?
is it the scare tactics from the media which feed such propaganda and paranoia amongst the little folk and continue the cycle of hopelessness?
forever threats and conflicts. forever victims.
when you know you know and when you don’t, you don’t. the cry for a meaningful existence starts with a knowledge of the self and the need for purpose. period.
they say there isn’t really an us and them anymore, still hostilities even on micro level continue. but wait, the redeemer cometh…
enters distraction, social media and gullibility (the eighth cardinal sin perhaps). what a relief to be able to do something to change the world. a tool in my hand, a virtual prayer machine, a genie in a bottle; my voice will be heard, my dreams will come true.
this is the lure of fictional reality, a disconnect from your current situation. no, it’s not a fantasy it’s way more real; it’s becoming passionate about that which is actually happening somewhere else; displaced consequence. the illusion of having influence. unaware of our immediate selves we impress our opinions of prejudice and hatred indiscriminately. we invent a new language for it, a new moral code, more blame and more excuses. has this information highway not made us more judgemental instead of tolerant? fictional reality has the same effect as any other ideological stream, it creates ignorant fanatics but only on a grander scale.
the only consolation of fictional reality seems that nobody really cares, at least not anyone you really know.