Sunday, April 24, 2022

The Eye of Providence, Aspen Trees and an Inkblot Test

 



 

Sometimes, street photography goes beyond the capture of people and their behavior. There was a gathering on the town center and I took my camera hoping for a special moment. But all seemed predictable and uneventful. Until I stopped by an Aspen tree upon which the sun had enhanced patterns that triggered my imagination. I had walked by that tree thousands of time with my dog, but this time my brain made delightful connections.

The photo on top of the page shows what I saw and clicked quickly.

 

What did I see? Somehow the memory of a UNICEF poster about a child immunization program came out of my past. I had seen that poster in Egypt during a public health initiative I was involved in. I was able to find that poster on the Internet:



 

And here is what made me recall that poster about which I had not thought for almost 35 years (and this flashback did worry me, I have to admit):




 

Pareidolia? Perhaps, but the full-body of a child arms up and hair locks bouncing on that tree trunk was uncanny!

 

But there was more – here is the familiar shape of another child's head, next on that tree (see the wide, happy smile?):




 

At this point my neurons were firing in all directions, and putting those two scratches together, like a Rorschach Inkblot test, reminded me of a Polish stamp that was all joy and innocence:





… Interestingly, Aspen trees are best known for their “eyes” which was atop of the two “inkblots” I first noticed.  The Quaking Aspen (Populus tremuloides) is a most photogenic tree especially when a forest of Aspen trees are found. They seem to be looking at you with those eyes, the contours of which are most contrasty in the dusty silver bark of the trees. It is irresistible for a photographer not to take photos of these forests.

I find the origin of the Aspen eyes quite extraordinary. Indeed, one will find those eyes most abundant on Aspen that grow in a tree since the lower branches end up dying from the lack of direct sun being shaded by other Aspen. So, instead of hanging on to dead branches, the Aspen "self-prune" themselves by dropping these branches down. And it is the wound of the fallen branch that becomes the famous eye on the bark of the tree 

Thinking about the eye as a "wound" resulting from dead branches not receiving enough sunlight, I cannot resist thinking about Rumi's saying albeit more philosophical in nature:

                           The wound is the place where the light gets in




Yet, those eyes have inspired more sociological comparisons. For example artists have captured Aspen eyes resembling the Eye of Providence, which is symbolic of God’s eye in a protective way. The Providence eye is found in Masonic/Free Mason symbolism, on the U.S one dollar bill, the Estonian 50 Krooni note, the old Ukrainian hryvnia note, and several countries’ Coat of Arms including Belarus and Poland.

More, there is the Ancient Egyptian Eye of Horus a symbol of protection and health belonging to the sky god of Ancient Egypt depicted as a falcon. His right eye was associated with the Sun god Ra worshiped by Egyptians as representing enlightment.

Ancient Egyptians were extremely knowledgeable about human anatomy, and they had identified the shape of the Eye of Horus (or the Eye of Ra) around the pineal gland, a pine cone shaped miniscule located behind our eyes, attached to the Third ventricle in the middle of the brain. Sometimes known as the Spiritual Third Eye, the pineal gland is activated by light and Descartes called it The Seat of the Soul. The function of the pineal gland remained a mystery for most of human history, hence symbolism surrounded it. Most common symbolism of that gland was that it served as our inner vision, perhaps to look into our own souls.

 

.. What started as a hope to capture a human moment via street photography became a journey into matters of providence and soul searching.

All because of an Aspen tree next to the downtown sidewalk of a small cowboy town in Arizona on a sunny morning. Perhaps the desert sun activated my pineal gland in ways both delightful and surprising.

 

PS/ On my way back I passed by that tree again but the sun was higher in the sky and the shades had vanished.

 

 

April 24, 2022

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022

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