Can joy be temporary?

I find Ahmad Nadalian‘s work inspiring. As with other environmental artists, much of the breathtaking aspect of it for me is the recognition of pattern–we see one pattern, it tells us “waves on sand” or “veins of leaves” or “cracks in stone”. When I then recognize a secondary pattern, one that is unquestionably a thing created by a hand, and it is fine and delicate and in resonance and reverent of its site and source, it takes my breath away. Our handprints tend to be large, loud, and crowding–a being whose purpose is to speak to the fine and beautiful, but without preciousness, makes me so happy.

As with my breath, so the sand. Can joy be temporary? I think it has to be. Otherwise, would we recognize it for what it is?


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