A transversal line passes through two other lines to determine whether those two lines are parallel.
I always liked the transversal line, with its steady path, its focused mission, plugging away forward toward an answer. It lives in a state of becoming, its shape, its very existence dedicated in sacrifice of others. When the job is complete, he will have solved a riddle, bridged a gap, lived with purpose. Then he also is gone. Answer achieved, the focus turns to the two potentially parallel lines. He is the cocoon.
Kandinsky’s painting from 1923 called “Transverse Line” isn’t focused on a transverse line at all. Instead, it’s an ode to the circle. Kandinsky always liked the circle, thinking it romantic, representing something complete. And to be complete is to be at peace, even when you go on living.
A circle is a riddle solved, a gap bridged, a purpose found. After a circle has found its connecting point, the line that made it is no longer a line. It’s transformed into something new and spreads its wings like a butterfly post-caterpillar.
I think of this as I wait for my milkshake to melt. My cheeks hurt from trying to force it through the straw.
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