Thursday, March 22, 2012

how to describe beauty?

There are those moments of revelation, of understanding, when a scripture becomes illumined with meaning rather than dictum, when you hear that song that grabs your heart, read that book that resonates so strongly with the words you wish you penned, or see the piece of art that moves your soul in ways impossible express, and you want to share it with the whole world and usually that leads to shrugged shoulders and blank stares.

I felt like this when I ran through the doors of the Beachland Ballroom and heard Worm Ouroboros for the first time, enraptured by haunting siren harmonies and sinuous basslines and waves of guitar, never having heard this band before, not knowing what to expect and letting the sound wash over me, unsure still to this day why I didn't grab the CD then and there, though maybe booking it to my car parked in a dark lot alone while people were still leaving was tantamount in my mind upon the end of that show, and this has since been remedied via Profound Lore mailorder.

Randal waxes more eloquent than I ever could so I'll leave the reviewing of the new record to him. But take a listen nonetheless, because it's heavy and emotional and somewhere between my cathartic power chords and the Portishead for late night driving. I don't know how to explain it otherwise.

Due to the love of illuminated manuscripts, bright swaths of artful and vibrant color, and the melding of narrative and art, a large and colorful tome of Islamic illustrations to sundry epics, tales, and histories provided much awe and appreciation and such. I wish I could go to Isfahan and Tabriz, but thanks to the dumbassery of powers that be and a lack of funds, that doesn't seem likely in any near future.

But, the art... 
The swirls of clouds and foliage, the expression of the faces painted in miniature, the multicolored wings of angels and intricate patterning that I so admire and could never imitate. Technical skill so adept and the intensity of these colors and textures in a small space, the cross-pollination of silk road cultures with aesthetic elements far removed from the more familiar motifs of Lindisfarne and Kells.

There is so little that I can find with a quick google or perusal of the library catalog, but rest assured, there is surface scratched and now a craving to go deeper.

1 comment:

  1. These are the kind of images that you wish were Carrollian looking glasses all but begging to be jumped into.