A bowl of lemons

An image from the Electric Sheep Project

A simple bowl of fruit, oranges, lemons, and perhaps a few limes, sits in the center of the glass dining room table. The bowl itself is made out of turned wood, lathed from a piece of walnut, given a small footing, flared out into a wide opening. Oils from the fruit that it has held, have seeped into its finish, darkening it down to a rich copper red tone. It sits here day after day, cycling through various states of abundance or poverty, dependent on trips to the market, or that which is found on trees nearby based on season. In this manner it lives, holding potential, or not.

Objectifying is the bane of an idol mind. Over the last few days I’ve turned the notion this way and that, feeling a sense of frustration at what is presented as normal to the world, but is in reality not. Flipping through any form of media, one will see all manner of advertisements that take on this methodology of transforming humans to objects of desire, of envy. We fawn over individuals that turn into pantomimes of what we suppose is the higher notion of what the ideal person should look or behave as. S mentioned that one theory of objectifying humans within photographs, is that if the person being filmed or photographed is looking away, rather than staring directly into the lens, that the lack of gaze, of contact, allows for the person to become an object in the mind of the viewer. I do have to concur with this theory of S.

But where would this lead us, the recognition, rather than just waving off and ignoring it all. The work that needs to be done, is to understand that each and everything that is encountered maintains some essence that exists beyond our own boundaries. We hold dominion over nothing, including ourselves. If anything we are receptors, having the ability to take in the outside world into a cortex that ponders and vacillates over meaning. The sad thing is, that rather than allowing for only that which is stone, steel and wood to be seen as objects, we see other living beings as that, dead static things for use. The pathology is within this, the lack of desire to see beyond a stereotype, the disposable nature of a thing.

And yes, I know that I am dwelling on an image of a model looking away, with a sadness that is ignored and forgotten. There is something there, something that refuses to be reckoned with.

Perhaps I am wasting my time and should just close my eyes.






About Sarah Seager

I am an artist that works and lives in the wilds of Los Angeles.
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