the impression that, in the age of expansion (1850’s – 1920’s) and the centuries before (17th), that science was inexorably tied to not only a calculated observation with measurements and made up numbers, but with drawing, philosophy, theosophy, architecture, music, and religion. That those pursuing knowledge looked through the lens of a microscope, into ancient superstition, esoteric and occult traditions, herbalism, wild-crafting, and most importantly their own imaginations.
It was a more obvious creative process, including the scientific one, but not limited in thought (these are my rose colored glasses – of course they were limited by the tools they had grasp of the same as us now); but the rules felt less defined; because of the poor communication, and the isolation, and the madness of the times. Thus the box wasn’t so tight. They might be tripping on moldy bread; drilling holes in their heads for words with angels; or simply tripping on their own creative wandering in their untethered minds.
What is the purpose then of climbing mountains? (a leap in inquisition) or making music? writing ideas and stories down? crafting them into prose and poetry? Making and existing in beautiful spaces? Creating new?
Is it only a serving of inspiration? An expansion of self through hard work, exposure, and being compelled by one’s own fears? Why that then? Changing. Growing. Why those then? And what is this magnetism towards being complacent? lazy? stagnant? why do I want to freeze moments in time hoping they’ll never change?
“the learner must be led always
from familiar objects towards the unfamiliar,
guided along, as it were
a chain of flowers into the mysteries of life”