"Emotion may be expressed, or the utter lack of it may be expressed, but the only important fact is that of expression." The Model - William Mortensen, 1937

Through the Heavens, or perhaps through Great Aunt Linda's estate, or perhaps through the arteries of the postal system, or perhaps through the St. Vincent De Paul, some of us are handed THE MACHINE. Through the blurbs on the box, or perhaps the voice in your computer, or perhaps your starry eyed schoolteacher, or perhaps the text in some tome, many of us are told: Rejoice! You have THE MACHINE! Now you can use THE MACHINE to CREATE! You need only learn THE FUNCTIONS.

For the excited aspirant, the path looks quite simple: learn THE FUNCTIONS of THE MACHINE. This path can be quite short, taking some weeks -- perhaps months. Many aspirants find themselves content to take the path in a lazy fashion, not really paying all that much attention, just letting the path coo them in a gentle embrace. For some aspirants, they fulfill themselves by obsessing over learning every winding path and sub-path, turning over every rock and gorging their senses on THE FUNCTIONS over and over again.

Newly armed with THE FUNCTIONS of THE MACHINE, the aspirant will gaze upon what they thought to have CREATED. Some will find contentment, and at this stage will take leave and plod the other paths of existence satisfied with the results THE MACHINE has granted them. Some, however, will find disappointment. "I thought THE MACHINE would let me CREATE if I simply learned THE FUNCTIONS!." Of these, many in their befuddlement will reverse course: "Perhaps it is a FUNCTION of THE MACHINE I have yet to learn, or perhaps I need a different MACHINE altogether!"

What our aspirant really seeks in this moment is not a FUNCTION of THE MACHINE but instead an understanding of the NATURE of THE MACHINE. THE MACHINE, as our aspirant may discover, is a tool for capturing LIGHT and does not bend the LIGHT into shapes of it's own volition. Like any other tool, it is there to channel the will of the wielder. Our aspirant then may dive into a technical study of THE FUNCTIONS of LIGHT. Our aspirant, first seeing only a simple path, a small jaunt, a point A to B to the ability to CREATE, now perceives with new eyes a steep hill - one rife with composition, angle, LIGHT and shadow that they must climb.

Scaling upon our hill of LIGHT our aspirant, now bestowed the title of Hobbyist, has tapped into their well of effort and time. They poke and prod at a completely different beast, for a steep hill with all it's cracks and crevasses and it's vegetation twisting in desperate formations to maintain an equilibrium between stability and access to our sun presents a much less natural path than the point A to the point B. THE FUNCTIONS of LIGHT are frustratingly unclear at times, even hotly debated, and at times very difficult and time consuming to divine. We have entered a realm where in order for a hobbyist to crest this hill they must consult with experts, those who have mapped the cracks and crevasses and stood and fallen on those perilous twisted roots. So our hobbyist learns a hundred new and confusing FUNCTIONS, not of THE MACHINE but of LIGHT. They have perhaps along the way, even CREATED, even if they do not know how or why.

Here is where our hobbyist sits, peering from some point on our hill and by no means a master at all of THE FUNCTIONS of LIGHT, but enough to enter in another phase of dreaded self-reflection. Beyond this hill, frighteningly, a chasm. The chasm on it's own, deep and unknown and full of a horrifyingly unquantifiable mass of bodies has no issue striking fear into our hobbyist's heart. The fear this chasm could easily tip the balance in favor of the contentment of staying upon our little hill, proud of our accomplishment and tempted to explore every inch of our hill of LIGHT. What would be the point? To get this far just to try to cross this nightmare of a chasm and fail?

To numb, or perhaps in many cases amplify this ever-increasing dark mass of fright and futility growing like a tumor in our hobbyist's thoughts, rising tauntingly beyond this chasm there is a beautiful, wonderful, shining mountain. There is no need to question it's beauty, for this mountain is depicted everywhere, you can the mountain imbued with the breath of life in books, paintings, films, songs, in oceans and dirty faces and blood streaming down a limp appendage and you can even see it in the voice blaring through the computer screen. Many, our hobbyist knows, have climbed this mountain and given it life.

THE MACHINE at this point feels as a toy in their hands, an embarrassing little device that has gotten them relatively nowhere at all. Our hobbyist, perhaps with desperation setting in, flails about wildly, asking the question: "How do I cross this chasm? How do I even get to this mountain?" They may be told a hundred, perhaps a hundred thousand answers, but those who have climbed generally seem to understand something like: "That Mountain is NATURE, no one truly knows THE FUNCTIONS that lead you there, you must find them yourself."

Our hobbyist must stare into the smirking face of failure that awaits them, and thus death. This chasm is not something that is crossed, it is something that must be entered. Some scale down slowly with trepidation, finding every foothold possible, carefully planning and adjusting their every movement. Some plunge, gracefully, like a lithe diver, arranging their descent in a manner that is superhumanly efficient. Some trip and consequently fall, flailing and screaming.

Many do not make it up the other side.

Our hobbyist must learn anew. What they have been and what they have known must be demolished and they must struggle until THE FUNCTIONS of NATURE are revealed to them.

Our hobbyist,

frightened,

blind,

unconfident

and grasping at the walls desperately...

must die.