Hearts on the Distance
You know, the human imagination is a funny thing. We are inclined to see things in what we want to see things in, such as faces in the clouds, Jesus’ image on toast, or bears high-fiving in Rorschach blots. This phenomena is called Pareidolia (parr-i-DOH-lee-a). We more often than not ascribe various great meanings to the images when we do see such things; signs of a holy visitation, unknown messages of the future, even the visage of an alien form (look up the Face on Mars), but as a rational being, I see such them more as psychological markers to enrich cultural identity and provide cute little curiosities, such as the photographs I took here.
Hearts have long played an important part in my self-symbolism. For the better part of four years they’ve been among the important set of pawns to sacrifice in my vainglorious attempts at wooing the one I love. I’ve dedicated art pieces to the trite (and anatomically inaccurate) rendition of the romantic heart, and it in turn has largely become a part of my artistic identity, for better or for worse. So when pareidolia struck me with such a fitting image as I walked the lonesome green roads of the Keystone State, I couldn’t help but record it out of a sense of deep personal meaning.
In essence, this set’s for all you people who see hidden countenances in your tortillas, toast, Martian surfaces, and whatever else. More importantly though, this one’s for the kid who bothered with a simplistic lug like me in the first place. You know how I feel, babe.