I actually spend quite a lot of time staring at spires. A café isn't perfect unless I can see the tapering tip of a tower or a little turret from my window seat. And in our apartment, my favourite spot is the windowsill in the living room, which has the view of three of them, including the one in this photo, taken by Peter.
I like spires when they're paper thin silhouettes against a pale evening sky. I like it when they reflect the morning light off the easternmost panel, illuminated. And I love it when the green of the bronze plates becomes milky soft in overcast weather.
Why? Maybe because of a wonderful video installation I saw some years ago.
It showed a clip of Nidarosdomen cathedral, with cars driving by and people going about their business, an everyday lull. But after a very long minute, the spires simply lifted off their towers, like moon rockets, and escaped out into the atmosphere. Then on to a new famous tower. And so on, seven towers, in a loop. It was called, quite suitably, "One day, all towers and spires will lift off".
Anyway, I choose to ignore what Freud would have to say about this. I'm still waiting for that day.
No comments:
Post a Comment