SUMMER MYSTERIES - analog photo essay (original content)

The story begins with a book called “How to Create a Mind” by Ray Kurzweil. It is an interesting look at the software and hardware needed to create artificial intelligence. Using sentences that I found interesting while reading, I created this short text of what I took away from this book.
“All philosophy is critique of language. Sun rises and sets. Or it sets and rises. Consciousness is a fundamental reality. On the other hand, it is foolish of us to deny the physical world. It is a conceptual level that is real for us.”
The first question appears. It is one that defines almost everything we claim is real. Question language.
“He concludes that any attempt to express the feelings of the artist, the mystic, the philosopher destroys what only the silent ego feels - nothing more can be said”.
Nothing more than my eyes can see.

Question the power of your desire.
“Predicting the future is actually the primary reason that we have a brain. The principal activities of brains are making changes in themselves. Inventions or discoveries or just stumbles upon.
We are apparently very eager to explain and rationalize our actions, even when we actually didn’t make the decisions that led to them. It shouldn’t surprise us that the mental activity would start before we were aware there was a decision to be made. The answers were, of course, determined by the data, but they were not predictable.
Is my wanting now an omen of the future? Or is future determined by my wanting?
We essentially hallucinate the world from memories that interpret a series of movies with very low data rates that arrive in parallel channels.” HTCAM Ray Kurzweil

One minute after. The photographs are questions. Where is this space? Is it real, is it public, is it personal, is it imaginary? When is this? Is it a memory, a prediction? Just a moment whenever? Was it ever now? Everyday delusions. Living in a screensaver. Question time. You don’t have to be anything, you don’t have to be anywhere. But what to do with this sadness created by the disconnection between me and you? Will you cross that river.

I want to live every life.
It’s august. The colonial forces were moving south. It was going to rain. But to his eyes, the storm seemed more ominous. It seemed to be carrying with it a time best spent on the land. The clouds so hot and heavy she was feeling their touch on her shoulders were unbearable on the sea. The warmth was primordial, felt in every bone. Sun shines through this thick water level are blinding. Sun’s ball was visible through the salty, sultry mist. A wind coming from Africa, it takes its time to to gently remind you about movement of time in the space around you. She was looking at this banana peel she had left there some days ago. It was a day of angry rain that fell so clumsily, it seemed like someone just dropped a bucket. It had been late. The sky was pregnant with maggots. The women were relieved when it finally bled on them, this overused water that belongs in the earth. A pink cloud, the only shape in the sea or the sky, was reflecting in a large puddle in which he was standing. My eyes are broken, I see rainbows. The question of a secret yet to be revealed. Question your body.

A question. What happens with things that are lost? In what way is a film that has been used to photograph points in time and space lost if those photographs were recorded on the film, but later got burned, or the film never got developed, or it was destroyed by a wave?
The fact remains - I photographed things I found beautiful or interesting in order to remember them and show them to people as things I remember as beautiful or interesting. The result I wanted was a photograph that would give meaning to a thing I remember as beautiful or interesting. This meaning would be achieved by this photograph being shown to other people, who would assign their memories to the image.
Ultimately, I have photographs that remember one particular point in time - the light. I carefully let the light in in small amounts on restricted spaces, but in the end, I opened the camera and took an unfiltered image of light. It’s not what I wanted. I wanted to remember the things I wanted to remember. Are we all lonely where we are? Question space.

What has happened? What will happen? At this moment, I can’t know this. We were here, once before, underwater. This sweater smells nice. Agatha Christie’s books relax me in many ways. First of all, reading is such an incredible escape. It happens solely within you, and even the author is completely irrelevant. It’s also a very good hiding place. Over this summer, I had read almost all of Agatha Christie’s books that I could find in Budva. These books provide relaxation of my emotional confusion. I don’t really know or feel most emotions, and I have a very hard time recognizing and participating. I put it in very simple categories of cause and consequence, and I require there to be a reason for the emotions. Apparently, that’s not how it works, which is constantly proven to me by my failure to emotionally connect. But it’s easy in the universe of Agatha Christie. Everyone has reason for their actions and emotions, and they demonstrate and provide these reasons by respecting logic. It’s comfortable, unlike the messy world of humans. Question change. How to create anything.