The crane in the distance turns slowly, delivering its load. I’ve always been partly perplexed by cranes, not because of my youthful wish to be a cool crane operator, but because they just never seem to be in operation. You see them move on some days, and even then quite slowly. Observations from a distance of course, we know that the efficiency of using a crane is many factors larger than continually hauling things by hand.
I used to work at a printing press as a pre-press operator and graphic designer. The sheetfed offset presses in the next room had in my mind a much simpler efficiency gauge: they needed to be kept running 24/7. Every minute a press didn’t run, we could tell exactly how much money we were losing. We quickly learned not to make any typesetting errors.
The huge presses, up close with their deafening sounds, churning out 12,000 copies per hour, or the tiny crane in the distance moving slowly, lazily. Both fulfilling their efficiency potential, the only difference being my coincidental – and one could say ignorant – viewpoint. It’s all about perspective, how I look at things, from which distance, where I come from, where I’m going, who I am.
Cranes and presses are easy. But what about people, society, culture, family, history? The unavoidable conclusion is that there’s no possible way that I could be looking objectively at anything. I am by definition subjective, a complex, ever-changing aggregate of the influences bestowed upon me since birth.
I fly through my reality with much the same sensation of speed, connecting, asking questions, trying to understand, all the while bombing with my judgements, and the incessant worry that I am not as wise as I should be.
In the cockpit the sun blinds me. I press the shutter and release another bloody blossom maker, and hope for salvation.