"A Morir, Miguel Angel Rios"

I think what I really responded to in this piece was the raw power of the spinning tops. This was conveyed by a few means. The first of these was the perspective on the action. Besides the interesting fact that there were three different angles to look at simultaneously, the perspective was generally very low to the "ground" and up extremely close to the tops. As such, a whirring top could burst into the picture at any given moment, perhaps stopping perfectly and spinning right in front of you, knocking into other tops at high velocity, or whizzing right by and back out of the picture.

Besides the close up perspective, there was the quality of the sound which enhanced the sense of speed and intensity. I'm sure I'm not the only one to notice that it sounded eerily like a bombing raid being conducted overhead, with the whirring of the tops sounding much like airplane engines - first becoming louder and louder until they blew past you and the sound receded. All of this detailed surround sound led me to intimately feel the physicality of the tops.

This sense of power and motion was so palpable that I felt myself beginning to assign human characteristics to the tops. Some were larger than others and spun so quickly and with such force in one place that any smaller top which came into contact with them would quickly be blown away. These large tops seemed to me to be "proud" in the most self-satisfied sense, while the smaller tops were never as secure in their space and struck me as "timid" and afraid of their dangerous surroundings. Though the entire film is under five minutes long, near the end I was wholly engrossed in the struggles of these little beings (as I had begun to perceive them). When they slowly began to fall, their momentum withering one by one, I could not help but sense that this was an inexorable process and that their energy would not be replenished. That this would be a tragic occurence seemed a natural thought to me, and I perceived a degree of dignity in the way the last few tops stubbornly clung to motion until they hit the floor with a thud. I have to give Rios credit for getting me to so empathize with a bunch of tops and for bringing to light my own strong association between life and motion.

Photos That Inspire

This image of me and my little brother fills me with nostalgia every time I look at it. The warmth of those hot, sudsy baths I took as a child is instantly palpable to me, especially in the frigid February weather of the present. I took so many baths as a young kid that I think I permanently associate them with childhood and can very easily shut off my mind and melt away the rest of the world. While it’s only on rare occasions that I get to enjoy one nowadays, I still relish slipping into a nearly scalding hot bath and just soaking for a while. The repetition of a simple action from my childhood has a meditative quality for me.

Of course its not as though any old image of a bathtub would stir up the emotional response that this one does. This particular image has a number of things going for it. As far as color is concerned, my family never did like this “Twinkie yellow” shade in the bathroom, and it wasn’t long after this picture was taken that we redid the tiles. Yet in this instance I think the yellow only accentuates the warmth of the image and helps bring out the ruddy, healthy complexion of our skin. Our young vitality pops out at me.

The moment that is captured here is really something special. Faint traces of bubbles in me and my brother’s hair and on our faces remind me of the “bubblebeards” and “bubblehats” we always gave ourselves, and I have no doubt we were either sporting them moments before or are just about to build some. It’s also evident that this is a genuine instance of laughter. My brother and I look like mischievous co-conspirators, exceedingly pleased with ourselves, and conspicuously secure in our nakedness. To us, at this moment, the world is a place to play and we feel at home in it.

I can’t make up my mind which I enjoy more in this image: my brother’s wholly satisfied downward gaze or my own subtly indirect eye contact. They complement each other so well. If both of us had been looking at the camera or both of us looking away, I feel the picture would lose its natural quality. The mixture makes it clear we know we’re being photographed, but suggests we find other sources of amusement more compelling.

Nostalgia is a mixed emotion, so the reaction I have to this image is not entirely positive. Looking into the eyes of my eight or nine year old self I’m struck by his readiness to laugh, and I find myself worrying whether I’m relatively neurotic and humorless today by comparison. I feel the weight of time firmly dividing me from the kid that I was, yet I long to access him, to ask him questions, and to truly know what it feels like to be him.

Ultimately, despite the longing this image incites, I feel that to remember is good. I’m inspired by a sense of possibility from this picture. I am reminded of the impermanence of life, and therefore spurred to live. I recall the countless times I sat in that tub and investigated my rapidly changing body, felt in awe of my simple ability to move my hands and feet, and noted with a mixture of approval and alarm that it was getting harder and harder for me to fit. Remembering all of this reminds me that I once was, I now am, and I will be; and somehow I’m always all those things at once.