how does the pattern of the tile in your bathroom floor look like?

it had been ten years… 

ten years since he left the shores of his beloved island in a swift running hollow ship, laden with food, wine and armor. ten years since he last felt in his hair the breeze of the rocky hills and the green meadows of his homeland. ten years since he last felt the warm, soft skin of his wise, white-armed wife next to his…

ten years...

ten years of blood and gore and flesh. ten years of iron and wood and bronze. ten years of sacking and raiding and killing. ten years of fight and combat and war. ten years of defeat and surrender and attack...

ten years...

and after ten years, as the rosy-fingered dawn once more showed her pink cheeks from behind the mountains, he was on the shores of a foreign land, a place not his own, not his ancestors', not his kindred's. a place where he had no roots and would not have any branches. a place to where he was dragged ten years ago following the lead of proud, arrogant men, for a cause which was not his. "oh passion" he thought, "oh lust. what a burden you are on the shoulders of us, the mortal men. wide-seeing one of the dazzling bolt, that mighty dangler, always has his way with any fair girl he pleases and he always gets away with it while we mortals have to die in our thousands when one of us is enchanted"

so after ten years he was still on the shores of the land of horse-breakers, once more very early in the morning, he was sitting down at the beach and looking towards the sea and thinking of all those that he loved beyond its loud-roaring waves. he was tired, weary and much wounded from the battles he fought. he wanted an end to this misery, he wanted to go back. he was known to be a man of many twists and turns, a great tactician, the wise and the resourceful one. yet, he was unable to find a way to bring to end this much prolonged war.

those who presided over the clouds had a liking towards him. especially the bright-eyed daughter of the mighty dangler was his patron and supporter. she wanted an end to this carnage too. and she wanted that end to be in her champion's favor. she knew the end of the horse-breakers would come from within a horse. she knew horse-breakers would be broken by a horse. so, she tried to inspire her champion to devise a schema. he was still at the beach, trying to think a way out of this bloodshed himself.

so she, whose shield is the thunder, sent a couple of stray horses running through the beach to inspire her champion. he, the cunning man, looked at the horses, running together side by side, free as the wind through the beach and all he could think of was he and his wife walking on the white-sanded beaches of his island. she shook her head in disappointment. "oh these mortal men," she thought "take away their women and after ten days their brains are clogged by their lust". 

then she did her second trick, more splendorous this time, more dazzling, she had the waters of the sea rise in a column towards the sky and just as the columns was five times the height of a man she gave it the shape of a giant horse on its hind legs. he, great teller of tales, was amazed to see this and felt good that he would have some interesting story to tell his friends after dinner. she, the gray eyed one, shook her head in disappointment. "oh these mortal men," she thought "give them a chance to  touch the miraculous and all they can think of how they will brag about it over wine".

then she did her third trick, even more miraculous this time, she moved the last remaining stars in the early sunset sky and bring them into a formation whose contours defined a horse running in full speed. he, the master mariner, lifted his head towards the sky, squinted his eyes and was puzzled by the way stars lined up. he rubbed his eyes and looked again. "i must be very hungry" he thought "i see a whole roasted pork when i look at the stars. i should better go eat something". she, the tireless one, was tired. she shook her head in disappointment once more. "oh these mortal men," she thought "move the heavens in front of their eyes and they won't see it if their belly is empty".

so she did her last trick. she brought about an unusual wind, blowing and flowing in all the different directions all at once. she churned the air with strong currents and she moved the clouds. she brought them all together and gave them the shape of a giant white horse running towards the sun in front of a dazzling background of the purple morning sky. but he was too afraid to open his eyes lest he would have sand in them, let alone look up in the sky and see the giant horse. "storm is coming" he thought "let me return back before it hits hard". she, the third born of the gods, shook her head in disappointment again. "oh these mortal men," she thought "they are too fragile that even one grain of sand is enough to make them blind to see it when you bring clouds down to them"

following the path he followed everyday, he started walking towards his camp. for the last ten years, he had walked through this very path so many times that he had almost memorized it. he knew every pebble, every rock on it. he could walk it blindfolded, without any visual aid. it had become so ordinary for him. but now, the unusual winds which the bright eyed one blew to move the clouds had also moved the sand on the beach and changed the pattern on it. he could not tell which way he should go. he did not have any consciousness of his whereabouts. luckily the lookouts in the camp started to play the drums in that particular noisy, alarming rhythm which was used to call men to arms. hearing this, the cunning one started moving towards the sound. as he was running hastily to reach the camp without paying much attention to anything around, he suddenly felt a warm, soft feeling under his barefoot. he looked down and he realized that in his hurry, he had stepped onto a large piece of horse dropping, still fresh, warm and smeared all over his foot. he looked back, there was a huge pile of it sitting in its own rising steam in the middle of  his path. "damn it" thought the man of much-enduring "what kind of a horse does this, it must have been a giant beast". 

then he repeated the last words aloud: "a giant horse" and he looked back towards the sea into the horizon and felt proud of himself. and that is how the man of twists and turns came up with the idea of the hollow-bellied horse which would break the horse-breakers.

and she, the mighty daughter of the mighty father shook her head in disappointment one last time and "oh these mortal men," she thought "no matter how sublimely you try to inspire them, they still find their inspiration in no place other than dung and crap" 

what is it?

When we think of all the rhythm in our lives, the hidden ones, like the heartbeat, the steps we take as we walk, the stairs we ascend or descend, the pounding of the words as we speak or letters as we type and the explicit ones, like the rhythm in music, obviously rhythm is very much integrated in our daily practices. In this regard, visual rhythm, too, is quite essential for us and the patterns are probably the most important part of our visual atmosphere which creates the sense of visual rhythm.

Although the explicit patterns we have in our lives, like the pattern on the wall covering or the table cloth that we choose to decorate our living spaces or the patterns in an art work that we engage with create a more or less conscious visual experience, most of the visual patterns in our lives are neither of our choice nor within our conscious perception. The ways the surfaces in our environments are covered with certain patterns are mostly out of our control, moreover in many cases, we do not pay much attention to them. In addition, not the visual aspect but other concerns like the economic, structural or functional ones take precedence in their appearance or construction. The flooring in closed spaces, the pavement designs, the road lines all come in certain patterns and hence create a sense of visual rhythm for us. We live within them, we glide through them every day and they are a part of our lives. However, we hardly notice or make much of a connection with them.  

This project aims to make an implicit or hidden part of our daily experience more explicit and find clues about our perception of visual rhythm.