By Jim Crutchfield
Rather odd, but I find myself having to be an advocate for time. Things come into being through time. And so, to my mind, time is important. And, for that matter, time shouldn't need championing. Many scientific colleagues, if confronted, would agree, but then turn right around and work as if all was static, given as is. If I say "pattern", what comes to mind is an image. (We're such visually evolved beings … we think.) Patterns in time are there, too, and perhaps even more important. Certainly, through music we know this. All that's well and good, if a bit familiar. But it does inform my reactions to our place. What catches my eye and mind are the dynamic flows around me. Ari's taunt rope, fluttering the dried grass was captivating enough by itself, Ernest or no. There's a music in time. No. Let's reverse that. Perhaps music is our direct cognitive connection to time; time's arbiter against evolution's cruel visual dominance in our brains. We can close our eyes, but we can't close our ears nor ignore time. We're split, of course, teetering between the visual and the aural. For now, here, my first thoughts moved to the daily cycle of coastal California—the ebb and flow of the fog tides. So, thought I'd share, as something concrete, a fledgling attempt to warp that cycle's time scale to our own. Be patient, just a start, as I work through the prosaic-ness of GoPro battery life, format shifts, and compression. Evening into Morning: Foglapse.