What is it that makes people enchanted by glow? What is it that makes them slow down when passing by small, light bulbs in the middle of the night when they have so much light spread over everything around them, during the day? Is it the light’s attitude when it concentrates itself in small spaces and proudly stands against cosmic darkness, laughing at this world of dust, that makes it so special? Or is it that despite its evanescent, slender character, it still finds the way to celebrate its multifold nuances which signal its gradual surcease?
Despite our common yet natural agony in absence of light, when a sunset is over, when the lights go off, there has always been the same amount of light in the world, something that should be guaranteeing that despite its periodical absence, even in the case of an eclipse, the light returns and the eclipse does not become endless night. Because, as H.D. Thoreau has stated, the new and missing starts, the comets and eclipses do not affect the general illumination, nor the light circulation. Yet, there are two kinds of people: the ones who use that guarantee as an excuse for not paying particular attention to the moon and the light circles, since.. “they will be there to examine even tomorrow”, and the others, who sometimes wake up early enough to see the sunrise, who plan their afternoons according to the sunset and when there’s full moon, they insist in trying to solve Paulo Coelho’s enigma about what the relationship between the lunatics and the moon is, so that for insanity to be dressed in moonlight gowns, in most tales.
This last category of people, who also happen to identify with Anton Chekhov’s quote “Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass”, who deeply appreciate its delicate, precise, like a paper-thin-slice-from-a-cabochon-jewel form, and try to find ways to bring it down to their own terms, these are the ones who appreciate the silent way it bathes the earth with solitude and who keep track of its travel, its orbit and its hues. Alternatively, if we are to use the rhetoric of the planets, these are the people who choose the lunar over the solar eclipse. And that can be explained:
During the lunar eclipse, the moon acknowledges its adornment for the periodical darkness, it passes behind the earth and slips for sometime into the earth’s shadow. That necessitates two things: a full moon, and the earth to be exactly in the middle of the fully aligned sun and moon. This is the moment, when the natural reflections of sudden fear would come about, because the sunlight is blocked by the earth’s shadow. Yet, there is some reddish light, a kind of light that resembles that of the sunsets, which escapes the shadow and makes the sunny halo around the moon, visible. Unlike the few-minutes-long and harmful for the eyes solar eclipse, the lunar eclipse lasts for some hours and due to its dim yet star-borrowed pearly glow, it can be stared at with a naked, brave and dream-prone eye.
For the ones who embrace darkness with the mental visualisation of a sky of silver, with a crescent, lavender moon. For the ones who identify symmetry with the random plays between the sun and the moon -where although the sun is 400 times larger than the moon, it is also 400 times farther from Earth, making the two bodies appear the exact same size in the sky-. For the ones who see in the reddish hues of the moon -when the sunlight is filtered through the atmosphere-, the cumulative glow of all the world’s sunsets. For the ones who find truth in Tom Robbin’s statement, that “there is no point in saving the world if it means losing the moon”. For the ones who can welcome autumn as we do, with colours easier to be seen in the night, with textures soft as the immaculate purity of hanging-in-the-sky astronomical bodies, with a balance borrowed from the moon phases.
Written and curated by Marianna Serveta,
Photos taken from the upcoming collection gallery (including details from Elen Aivali’s photo-campaign)