Voyages of Discovery, From the Earth to the Moon

The Moon is both a familiar and an extraordinary place difficult to apprehend. It is a collective vision situated between imagery and fantasy, poetry and science. When we look into the universe astronomers tell us we are literally looking back into our past, into the origins of all things and when space began. The light reflected is actually the light of memory, of history, or of events already gone by. Physics at times becomes metaphysics and theology; aesthetics and mythology all seem to converge into one primordial place. The Moon occupies a place out there, it is part of our landscape yet somehow alien. During the Apollo missions we all experienced a collective gasp as we saw a man step foot onto the Moon?s surface, but for a moment, we seemed to be staring back at ourselves as the NASA cameras turned their view towards the Earth and we saw our own portrait. History and memory sometimes turn images into things that strangely bear witness to the events that hold a truth in their being. A scratch on a negative somehow also captures a moment that the photograph was striving to depict. Photographers tell us that their images are not taken, but made. Could it be the opposite in Painting? Is it possible that the splatter of paint could somehow reveal a form of unknown contingencies? Physics once again speaks about things not seen, parallel worlds, and strings that make up reality. The stains and scratches on the surfaces of daguerreotypes somehow offer fictions that stand for truth. The image draws me in while it lets me know what I can never see. Reflections again, and parallel spaces.Were the Heavens created so that man could ask his questions? I am once again amazed and have a deeper level of respect for the unique sets of circumstances required in order to sustain life on our planet. Looking at the Moon in my brokenness; biographical, historical, and scientific, somehow does not effect its own completeness and universality. All of this somehow only serves to remind me of my own tentativeness, fragility, and reflection.

- Don Pollack