Blurred Trees and the Tilted Space Where Recollection Rests

 

A container sits tilted in the middle of the road. A tree in bloom stands beside it. The trees in the background are completely out of focus. Power lines cross the sky. It is spring.

When I look at this scene, something heavy remains in the eyes. The weight of recollection. Nothing rises clearly. Nothing becomes sharp. The eyes simply stay there for a long time.

The tilted space

The camera may have been slightly tilted. The container looks more slanted. Inside this uneven space, the recollection settles heavier. The lack of level feels strangely calm.

A container with windows looks like a house. Without the windows, it would only be a storage unit. Recognition builds it that way. I sometimes want to step beyond that recognition, yet I stay inside the tilted space for a while.

A direction of slight loosening

One side of the tree is in bloom. The other side is not. Perhaps the wind made the background trees even more blurred. That blur loosens the weight a little.

It does not need to be beautiful. It does not need to be striking. The state of that moment simply stayed in the eyes, and I wanted to keep it.

The weight of recollection, inside a tilted space, beginning to loosen a little. I want to leave that state as it is.