There’s this design heuristic that if people cut across the grass, you should pave the shortcut they make. This gives the path a lovely human fit. But sometimes you want to do the opposite. You want to design ways to get people to take a longer path, a longcut, so they can see or do things they’d miss otherwise.
Whenever someone talks or writes about building a path or a trail, it always reminds me of “The Calf-Path” poem by Sam Walter Foss, which goes like this (In case you have not read it):
The little excerpt about Looking for Alice altering the relationship status of a bunch of people fascinated me more than the main topic of this essay.
Recently on a plane, I watched a beautifull and slow and cumbersome movie, The Bridges of Madison County.
Spoilers ahead:
It is about two people who meet by chance, a married woman with children and a wandering photograph. They fall hopelessly into love with one another, the kind of love that others don't find once in a lifetime. They never get together, reality just permits it, she is tied down, in a stable but somewhat loveless marriage.
The interesting part is that the story is told in a meta story, her son and daughter discover her story through old photographs and a diary. At the end of the movie they understand the affair of their mother better, and thr daughter realises in her own life she may end up like her mother, in a mostly loveless marriage with her heart beating for someone else.
I don't exactly remember the ending, but I think she breaks up with her fiancè or so.
Stories hold power in the real world. They may be shortcuts, they may be pavement, they may be lanterns at the edge of the road illuminating the way, they may be the trail in the ground where feets of others walked their way, or perhaps their power is such that it escapes words and metaphors.
But perhaps it is not such a bad thing that Looking for Alice leads to a breakup, somehow it is wonderfull that stories move this world, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
Don't really know where I am going with this, just marvelling at the power of stories I suppose.
“An essay is not a vehicle of knowledge transmission; it is a landscape to think in, and a path to get there.” This sentence is gold. I so enjoy how your essays extend an invitation to think. I’ve come away from reading this one with an opinion that thinking is the greatest form of entertainment. I have a nickname: the Option Queen. There is nothing I like more than to think up as many different ways of answering questions as I possibly can. Now I can imagine doing so as cutting paths to connect all the various memories, knowledge, emotions, and sometimes detritus in my head, making me a more cohesive person … thinking then is the glue that holds me together and sticks on new and interesting parts.
This essay speaks to a huge issue I've been having in relation to my art for years now. I have the way that I like to write, which is very similar to what you describe as longcuts. It may not be the most direct, but it transmit beauty, imagery, and a mood.
On the other hand, there is the desire to be understood. And writing in that way is much more like "the marginal user" use case you talk about. I get, on average, more feedback and understanding on these, but I can't help but feel dissatisfied. I love writing for the art of it.
"No! We build paths. We look for better ways of expressing ideas. We find more effective methods of teaching." - absolutely love this. Taking the long way to craft something beautiful in a culture of expediency; the craftsmanship shows
Also having tiny insects stick their head into water is quite the imagery; I remember seeing those clover mites growing up too :)
I think it was Monet By Himself: Paintings, Drawings, Pastels, Letters -- we've returned it to the library so I'm a bit unsure. It had his letters in it though, which I enjoyed.
Whenever someone talks or writes about building a path or a trail, it always reminds me of “The Calf-Path” poem by Sam Walter Foss, which goes like this (In case you have not read it):
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail as all calves do.
Since then two hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bell-wether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bell-wethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made;
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged, and turned, and bent about
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ‘twas such a crooked path.
But still they followed -- do not laugh --
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked,
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again;
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet,
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare;
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed the zigzag calf about;
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They followed still his crooked way,
And lost one hundred years a day;
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach,
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah! many things this tale might teach --
But I am not ordained to preach.
What a lovely poem
The little excerpt about Looking for Alice altering the relationship status of a bunch of people fascinated me more than the main topic of this essay.
Recently on a plane, I watched a beautifull and slow and cumbersome movie, The Bridges of Madison County.
Spoilers ahead:
It is about two people who meet by chance, a married woman with children and a wandering photograph. They fall hopelessly into love with one another, the kind of love that others don't find once in a lifetime. They never get together, reality just permits it, she is tied down, in a stable but somewhat loveless marriage.
The interesting part is that the story is told in a meta story, her son and daughter discover her story through old photographs and a diary. At the end of the movie they understand the affair of their mother better, and thr daughter realises in her own life she may end up like her mother, in a mostly loveless marriage with her heart beating for someone else.
I don't exactly remember the ending, but I think she breaks up with her fiancè or so.
Stories hold power in the real world. They may be shortcuts, they may be pavement, they may be lanterns at the edge of the road illuminating the way, they may be the trail in the ground where feets of others walked their way, or perhaps their power is such that it escapes words and metaphors.
But perhaps it is not such a bad thing that Looking for Alice leads to a breakup, somehow it is wonderfull that stories move this world, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
Don't really know where I am going with this, just marvelling at the power of stories I suppose.
Yes, I assume the breakups were a good thing—you have to trust people up things like that.
“An essay is not a vehicle of knowledge transmission; it is a landscape to think in, and a path to get there.” This sentence is gold. I so enjoy how your essays extend an invitation to think. I’ve come away from reading this one with an opinion that thinking is the greatest form of entertainment. I have a nickname: the Option Queen. There is nothing I like more than to think up as many different ways of answering questions as I possibly can. Now I can imagine doing so as cutting paths to connect all the various memories, knowledge, emotions, and sometimes detritus in my head, making me a more cohesive person … thinking then is the glue that holds me together and sticks on new and interesting parts.
Is this essay a shortcut or a longcut then ?
it is a slight step out of the way
This essay speaks to a huge issue I've been having in relation to my art for years now. I have the way that I like to write, which is very similar to what you describe as longcuts. It may not be the most direct, but it transmit beauty, imagery, and a mood.
On the other hand, there is the desire to be understood. And writing in that way is much more like "the marginal user" use case you talk about. I get, on average, more feedback and understanding on these, but I can't help but feel dissatisfied. I love writing for the art of it.
"No! We build paths. We look for better ways of expressing ideas. We find more effective methods of teaching." - absolutely love this. Taking the long way to craft something beautiful in a culture of expediency; the craftsmanship shows
Also having tiny insects stick their head into water is quite the imagery; I remember seeing those clover mites growing up too :)
"...not my flavor of patience" is a beautiful turn of phrase.
Looking at art books together:
New date night idea. Perfect fit for us. Thank you.
Wholeness! What is the name of the Monet art book?
I think it was Monet By Himself: Paintings, Drawings, Pastels, Letters -- we've returned it to the library so I'm a bit unsure. It had his letters in it though, which I enjoyed.