Bonds & mirrors

Translations can “destroy with the hope of a bond”. How desperate! How common in a society that does not justify the means to an end! Still, they are an art. That bond is there, damn it. Why is art all about the bond?

Is it? I don’t know, but it’s definitely always binding something. It can’t not; that would be ego and not beauty (although art does have that habit of looking for mirrors to look on…). And art I am sure has something to do with beauty. It’s important to recognize that ingredient at least on principle. We can’t just forget. We can’t forget that inside us, in the beginning, art was beauty. Beauty, bond. So is translation beautiful? Bond… beauty.

Then is art not also an “ultimate end”? Is art not also amoral and therefore destructive?
It certainly has grown in parallel of the absurd. And the absurd of humanity and its games. Cause or effect?

E f e c t i v a m e n t e… ah, the integration of languages, the comfortably adjusting gaps of poetic language, the tickles they provoke! The wind of change… art’s always there, grasping what makes the wind move. And look, look what it can do, thought it destroy.

It’s all about the looking. The seeing to feel, feeling to learn to see. To question principles and sense (that nagging voice of the dark reason) and open ourselves to new bonds, discovering languages, of all kinds, everywhere. Finding the reality in illusion. (No longer a crime, no longer a lie). Synesthesia…

How interesting that this began with translations. Bonds & mirrors. Art and translation.