Windows of Perspective
Windows are useful things. They provide protection from the elements, a portal through which to view the outside or inside, and an opportunity to narrow the gap between two disparate places.
Wherever we venture, we’re inevitably going to run into windows. We’ve created a mythology about them, immortalized them in such phrases as “eyes are the windows to the soul,” and other such dross as poets and bards are likely to embellish. From the lowliest corners of humanity’s estate to the richest castles of history, windows have always had their place. We find reference to them across the historical records of Western and Eastern civilization because they became instrinic to our social functioning.
What we place in these windows becomes a secondary part to the story. From bars to glass to various synthetics, we fill the framing of these portals to suit the need. Imagine if you were fly on a trans-Atlantic airliner with no glass in the windows? Ah, that’d result in quite the spectacle and potential bodily harm. So, we fit material to the purpose those windows were created for.
When walking through a castle or even in the streets of places like Helsbørg or København, you’re rewarded with a variety of material and fillers in those windows. Some windows are achingly tall, causing you to crane your next to see the very apex of their reach. Others are, as seen at the top, more compact, embedded into the circular stone stairwells used by servants and masters alike over the centuries past. In each there is a story; in each, a message.
I found it interesting, where possible, to look through each pane of glass mounted in the window at Kronborg castle. Each piece of glass is laid into a lead frame and carries its own swirls, colouration, and character into the whole. As you look across each of these panes, you get a different perspective of the world outside, much like the varieties of human experience and history we have all come to recognize.
Windows are truth tellers (for the most part). They provide a passive view of the world around that engage us to tell the story. They provide no narrative, except for their construction to and towards their observation, and are reliable conduits insofar as we allow them to be.
We have windows of a different sort available to us today. We have the window of history to look back through, coloured by the lenses of the victors. We have these digital portals where the quiet parts are said out loud and actions are shown to be poor bedfellows to words. We have the agony of humanity spread out all around us, like so many bodies in a castle keep, and the pressing fires of society’s conflagration to keep us warm.
We can choose the windows through which we watch. We can align our sight with those who think like us, talk like us, experience like us; we can look away when affronted, or look towards those in need.
As we wind our way down this year, I’d ask you to look back through the window of time and reflect on this year. What do you see from your perspective? What have you learned from the steps you’ve taken, the travels you’ve gone on, the stories you’ve told, the people you’ve encountered? Perhaps in starting this process now, you’ll be much more prepared for what lies ahead as you look through the window towards 2024.
May it ever be so.
