The Objects That Own Us
- Martin Dimino
- Aug 23
- 6 min read
ESSAY by MARTIN DIMINO
Art is an embodied activity, requiring a human body for its execution. Art, both plastic and pictorial (in this essay, I am not considering time-based forms like music, dance, or drama), has the ability to capture a sensation originating within the artist and then transfer that sensation into raw material. This, in turn, is presented to the viewer's touch and sight senses, eliciting a reaction that is either equal to or opposed to the sensation originally capture by the artist. The body serves as the material substrate from which the soul leaps in imaginative transports of emotion, both joyful and melancholic, arriving at its ultimate aim of self expression.
The rock beneath your feet was buried deep under the Iapetus Ocean some 500 million years ago. It was once part of the now-lost continent of Avalonia. Your hiking boots strike the granite slope, carved and etched by glaciers over 13,000 years ago. These glaciers have since abandoned boulders scattered haphazardly across the eastern half of the island. You scaled the southern ridge of Champlain Mountain, opting to avoid the higher elevation of Cadillac Mountain to the west and Champlain's precipice trail to the east. The peaks of Cadillac and Dorr rise to your left, while islands in the distance are framed by the Atlantic's deep azure. You are on Mt. Desert Island, Maine.
You stop and take a seat by one of the cairns. Accidentally, you kick a small stone. You pick it up, flip it onto its side, and examine its rust-colored ferrous core. You slip it into the side pocket of your coat as a keepsake.
Continuing your climb, you spot apiece of driftwood in the middle of the trail and pick it up, intrigued by its feel. Another hiker must have brought it from below. The wood bears the marks of the sea, shaped by watery hands. You run your fingers along its smooth edges. contrasting it with the rough granite pebble you picked up earlier.
