The word “shapes” to me implies regular geometric shapes:
circles, squares, trapezoids, ovals, rhombi, rectangles, parallelograms. Other,
less mathematical shapes fall into the category of “organic shapes”: crescents,
quatrefoils, crosses, stars, teardrops, hearts. There is an infinite number of
shapes that don’t even have names, because every one is unique: the shape of a
particular pear, or amoeba, or fingernail, or stick. Every bit of matter in the
known universe has a shape. If you look closely enough at just about anything,
you will find identifiable, distinct shapes. For example, I caught a glimpse of
this fascinating view as I was helping my daughter put on her bike helmet this
afternoon.
The bricks are regular rectangles in a repeating, even
pattern, but superimposed over them is the shadow of irregular, forked tree branches,
and adjacent to them is the even oval of the bike helmet filled with teardrop-
and leaf-shaped cutouts. I love the jumble of shapes and patterns; the
juxtaposition of regular and irregular, of predictable and unexpected.
It’s a lot like life: there is a certain comfort in predictability
and regularity, but at the same time, it can get a little boring. And if
everything were unpredictable, life would be scary and uncertain. So the most
beautiful combination is a little bit of regularity and a little bit of
unpredictability. Rectangles and irregular polygons. Bricks and branches. The
many shapes of life.
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