This discussion of photography and the golden ratio is so charming and adorable. I can tell you that I barely even understand it, but I love affirming that there exists this broad esoteric spectrum of crazy, weird things that certain small numbers of people care deeply about. Arguing over the internet about the golden ratio and its suitability as a photo size is about as adorable as it gets, for my money. Swoon! Marry me, internet. (If I were a dude, I would EVEN AS WE SPEAK be concocting some sort of horribly ill-advised “I now pronounce you man and wi-fi” joke. Let us all now give thanks for my two X chromosomes.)
I found that Flickr argument, by the way, via a Google search of “Mark Rothko” and “golden ratio.” I was at the National Gallery last week, and I spotted these two Rothko paintings and dragged my girlfriend and cousin over to view and exclaim over them.
Okay, so I was the only one exclaiming anything complimentary. My girlfriend accepted the Rothkos without comment, but my cousin loudly and humorously** objected to any and all color-field paintings at the gallery, and as these are the pieces I always tend to love the most, I found myself flutteringly trying to explain what cannot be explained, i.e., why I like a thing when other people like another thing.
** Initially typed “humerously” here, then experienced a protracted mental disconnect about the adjectival version of the humerus, and why in tarnation we don’t hear this more often. There must be at least occasional need for someone to describe how something happened in the manner of the arm bone. It occurs to me that I should try inserting “arm-boning” for “humorous” into various sentences, Cockney-rhyming-slang-style, and see if it catches on. Example: “That is quite the arm-boning comedian!” “Community is the arm-boningest show on television!” “Your new boyfriend is totally arm-boning; please make him do some more John Glenn impressions.” “I find Heidegger’s use of arm-bone in ‘Being and Time’ to be very endearing.” This would totally work, right?
I apologize if the preceding paragraph is too stupid to even read. I’ve been up all night monitoring a stray dog I picked up yesterday, and while my patience is thin at the moment (starving dog + possible intestinal parasites + cheese Pringles and I’ll let you do the rest of the math), my capacity for the ludicrous is at dangerously high levels. When the rescue group comes and collects the dog later, let us hope I have not attempted to shave him or dye him pink or put him in a Tron costume or anything.
Oh and yeah, so I picked up my umpteenth stray dog. The dog was wandering along a busy interstate in the middle of nowhere and was clearly cold and hungry and scared. And he came over willingly, tail-a-wag. I am not stoked about having this stray dog here, but I would have been even less stoked about leaving him alone and dealing with survivor’s guilt all the long-and-cold night, so there it is. He’s very sweet and would make a great buddy for some kid. So long as the kid in question does not share any of his Pringles.
So, right, I got started on this blog entry because I had googled Mark Rothko and the golden ratio. I heard a curator at the museum (remember it? when I was at a museum?) going on about how Rothko always used the golden ratio to create his paintings, and that’s why they resonate with so many people despite being “about” nothing. (Ironic use of a preposition! Glory! I am totally on fire with this entry.)
This Rothko/golden ratio thing blew my mind because, like many people, I love the paintings. I love them without having the slightest idea why I love them, other than their just generally being huge and evocative and colorful and weird and a joy to look at. I didn’t find any further compelling evidence to suggest Rothko was doing the golden ratio thing on purpose, but I sort of stopped searching when I got to the Flickr discussion because it derailed me with its crankypants adorableness. I hope future Googlers do not enter the same search term I did and come here hoping for helpful information because ha-ha I have bad news for them.