Our imaginations are inhabited by ghosts

I make photographs and write notes. This activity rarely synthesises into a flickr post, or anything else. I often think these activities are fairly pointless until they become socially useful.

I was going through my notebook and seeing if any words caught my eye. The phrase, ‘Our imaginations are inhabited by ghosts’, pops out. I Search Google, and find myself and one of the books I’m reading, ‘An Intimate History of Humanity’, by Theodore Zeldin.

I had no intention of showing this photograph to anyone. It didn’t conform to any of the criteria I have for showing a picture. I could see no point in showing it.

Yesterday evening I made this photograph. I’d met Jude at the British Museum to see and hear ‘Music at the Royal Courts of Mexico and Spain’. Part way through the performance Ian Mursell, from Mexicolore, gives an entertaining talk on the instruments being used. My mind drifts a little into thinking about culture as language, and at the same time culture as culture. Where did that thought come from? I’m also reading, ‘Education and Imagination. Post-Jungian Perspectives’, the book begins with a quote from Jung, ‘The debt we owe to the play of imagination is incalculable’. Later in the book I’d written in the margin, ‘learn from children’.

I re-look through the book, an underlined quote, this time from Vygotsky’ ‘the individual develops into what he/she is through what he/she produces for others’. In the margin I’ve written, ‘reap what we sow?’

This photograph has many meanings for me, but you can’t see my meaning in this photograph.

(1191)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s