I wrote this around 12 years ago when I was living in Kyrgyzstan. I took the above picture on that day. It is my wife, Sarah.
I am one of those who
believe that real genius is in simplicity.
Surely many disagree and probably some who agree talk about exceptions,
and even I might find myself in agreement with them. However, the magical existence, which I saw
and experienced in the mountains of Kyrgyzstan this morning, surely
could not be separated from its simplicity.
Maybe it was so magical because it was so simple. It was a simplicity, which does not reflect
the mind of a simpleton but the simplicity, which only could emanate from the
mind of a genius.
Still, how do I
describe such a mesmerising beauty, when it is pictured so simple? How does one
describe a scene where mountains, valleys, trees, bushes and whatever we call
nature is covered or frozen under thick crystal snow? Surely that is one of the most difficult
things to do. It might not be so
difficult to describe the same scenery in spring or any other seasons as long
as it is not wintry white, when all colours shower themselves simultaneously in
a form of white. That is partly because
in other times, nature is filled with colour and these colours provide the main
ingredients for descriptions of such beauties for a writer or a poet. It is like a painter who has abundant access
to colours for his painting so his artistic talent could express itself through
the artistic and creative use of colours.
However, what happens to the same painter when he has access to just one
and only one colour?
I am asking these
questions so you might be able to imagine how frustrated I am for having on my
palette only one colour to describe one of the most astonishing sceneries I
have ever seen, that Mother Nature can ever present to us – and I have seen so
many beauties.
Maybe I should have
been an Eskimo, since apparently they have around thirty eight different names
for snow. That knowledge to some extent
would have made my job easy, or rather less difficult. However, I wouldn’t want to be an Eskimo
since I don’t know whether the same appreciation of beauty exists among
them. The severe life conditions and
constant attempt for survival leaves little space for reflection and
appreciation of beauty. It is not
accidental that civilizations did not develop in merciless environments.
So I wish I had the
snow knowledge of an Eskimo without being an Eskimo.
Still, I had better
stop wishing for something, which the present circumstances do not allow for,
and make the best out of what I have.
And what I have is only one colour, and what makes this even more
difficult is my dire need to describe the dream land, which I visited this
morning, while being awake. What I saw
was like a dream woken up in magic and drowned in the myth of life. How could it be possible for me to describe
that?
Some days after I went
to an open gallery, filled with paintings in the celebration of the beauty of
their land here. I could see numerous
paintings of the mountains, valleys, rivers, trees, and water falls. However, all of them were of the colourful
seasons from spring to autumn. I just
saw very few, which were the paintings of white winters, and none of them
looked appealing. It was obvious that
the painters either did not see what I saw, or did an absolute injustice to the
beauty. Hopefully I am not an unjust
man so I better stop writing about it.
