In a similar way, the yam, which naturally inclines to travel upwards, striking the air which opposes it, at times cannot force its way through. For, just as vision, if it strikes downwards from above, has a refraction upwards, but is refracted downwards if it strikes upwards from below.
All disruptive passions - rudely rendered visible in an ordinary moment - suddenly comes into focus, exploiting all the ways she is present. An endlessly rich and layered, yet ruthlessly self–contained, solipsistic world that most are unable to enter. ornaments, aesthetics, accents, a bloodied finger), but looks beneath it to scrape up its more substantial, significant parts. After all, the heart sees not mere appearances (ie. In Sylvia Plath’s poem Cut, Plath slices layers off her thumb instead of an onion, unhinging her - this laceration an open window for her to descent into anguish. How exactly to determine this - Intelligently? Analogically? Deductively? There are an abundant number of other words with the '-ly' suffix that can excellent-ly describe possible modes of categorisation. This proposes that the capacity of a single layer might then be infinite, and can only be defined through categorisation. In these measures of possession and dispossession, a layer can thus be comprised of heaps as much as a heap be comprised of layers. It takes strategy - intervention is necessary to combine, compress, edit, and delete - regroup - these heaps, to piles, to stacks, to layers, to layer. Each layer is established on the foundation of utility and clarity. Over the years, I've developed a habit of never exceeding four master layers in a single project file. Too few layers is too thin, lame, and depressing. Another time, I was at Bermondsey station en–route to work and was approached by a lanky teenage surveyor to describe myself in three words. Too many layers is too thick, stuffy, and stifling. He overheated while airborne, had a fit, and passed out. One time, I read on the Evening Standard about a man who wore fifteen layers of clothing to skirt baggage fees at Keflavik Airport in Iceland. Layer upon layer makes layers, makes stacks, makes piles, makes heaps. Layers suppose countability, be it of the tangible - layers of sponge cake - or the covert - layers of meaning - sort. In any case, when a margin runs too thin, there is a keen likelihood of anything on it getting completely cut off.Įmploying scientific language, a layer is a thickness of a thing, typically assumed to be lying over or under another. In the context of a page, a margin is physically measurable (since 2007, the default margins for Microsoft Word has been 2.54cm all around) and typically frames the main content of a page from its edges. It designates people who live outside socially stipulated norms (and therefore generally excluded from mainstream society), whether by choice or otherwise. Within a social context, being ‘on the margins’ refers to a semantic rather than physical location. A position which has little power, importance, or influence. The sidelines within a situation, group, or page. In Finlay’s print, we only see that the rifle succeeds the arrow, but the quote reads like a mantra that suggests this overwriting continues insofar as new dominant forces surpass old ones so on and so forth, alluding to a cause-and-effect simplicity and directionality of past and future history. The establishment of new ‘goals’, and the uprising of new practices, methods, and technologies developed to reach them, spells imminent doom for its predecessors relationships need re-examination and potential overhauls. What Feuerbach makes claim to is that the act of conquering necessitates revising and redirecting, which in one way or another implicates a negation of the past and pastness.
Purpose is Spirit, but Spirit is the death, the destroyer, of sensible reality.
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