Mr. Charles Notwen was an old man with no sense of humour; all day long he used to stare at the different patterns of the pavement while walking, astonished as he always does, he asked to himself why a visible spectrum of colours cannot fade to black (does it sound easy?), he was utterly sure there’s impossible to conceive a phenomenon in the mother nature that can melt those colours into a greyscale spectrum (from black to grey), in fact; is the white light that make us be thankful to see how a sunbeam can decompose into different wonderful colours.
From the age of reason (well known as the age of enlightenment), scientists like Isaac Newton have been trying to handle the light as we can ride a horse; Mr. Notwen indeed, has studied the Newton’s theory of colours with a stubborn attitude, but one day an absurd thought came abruptly to his forehead: it is possible to overturn the flow of white light into the prism in order to produce a greyscale rainbow?
Since that fabulous thinking, it wasn’t until an evening of March 31st 1727 when Mr. Notwen looked back over his shoulder and felt as he was being followed by someone else. Suddenly, he couldn’t realize why his shadow has been fading into different colours; it wasn’t a sunbeam or any other source of light that has contoured his silhouette. How could it be? His shadow is the only witness of his movement; the wall indeed is where shapes are printed like a vast – everlasting – book with a carbon copy of experiences ever seen before, an archive of different sketches that many people has left behind...Right there, the spectral colours are printed in a film that cannot be developed by the bystander, the frame itself is where remain thousand, or perhaps, millions of histories compressed in the forgotten memoirs of the humankind.
There’s no other witness than you (is what Mr. Notwen said to himself), your complement is a silhouette developed by the astonishing power of light, a touch of solitude, a memoir that will remain for ages in an eternal film.
Our shadow is an outcome of our decomposition, actually -we are the dispersion prism-.
Sir Isaac Newton died in his sleep in London on March 31st 1727.
From the set: D'Film (CCS en presente continuo)
From the set: D'Film (CCS en presente continuo)
JM
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