This beautiful weathered fence post has been in place at the edge of this field for many years. We know this by noticing the lines in the wood which have been enhanced and deepened slowly by the passage of time. Also by looking at the contrasting lichen and moss which have set up home on the bare wood. Time has allowed wonderful textures and contrasts to form on what was once a plain, newly cut post of wood, and these textures beg to be touched.
New objects often lack the textural appeal applied by the passage of time. When this rock first found itself resting on its place between field and sea, it would have looked quite plain, but now it wears some wonderful clothes. The contrasting textures between the smooth rock and it’s beautiful lichens have been built up over time. Cracks and blemishes in the rock face are often what allow lichens to find a foothold and begin to grow.
For me this wrinkly aged fence has far more appeal than a newer version free from the textures of time. It’s although hidden within its contrasting ridges and furrows there’s a story, of long windswept nights and endless sun filled summers. The textures hold a tale about the life of this fence, of this wood and of this place on earth. The longer the story, the deeper the textures and contrasts, and for me therein lies the appeal.
The smooth texture of the new can never compete with the exciting drama of contrast. The deeper the degree of textural difference, the greater the awareness of each element. I love the hairy lichen adorning this smooth rock like little woollen tufts. The contrasting textures pull at me, whispering to my fingers to touch and feel. Texture is a wonderful combination of sight and tactile touch, and time weaves the best contrasts.
In the same way I find a face which shows some signs of age and time far more beautiful and interesting than one which is smooth and as yet unlived in. There is so much character to be seen in lines, and in the way they shape the face as emotions pour through. A flat smooth skin gives nothing away, a polished mask which hides the tales of a life well lived. A skin which wrinkles into a beautiful smile around the eyes and mouth is so attractive, and yet there seems to be a collective dread of these signs of the passage of time. A desire to somehow pause, to cease being alive and so resist being drawn into the deepening textures of life. The textures of time tell beautiful stories if only we will lean in a little and listen. To be afraid of the wrinkles of time is to be afraid of life itself, and of the journey which changes us a little each and every day.
See more posts about contrast at the WP weekly challenge.