Like a painting, the water surface shimmers. Its low undulating forms, just slightly curved, one in front of another, has been shaped by the wind or a passing boat, and the water surface comes to life. Like the memory filtering an artist’s impression, the water surface has its own way of filtering our impressions, the image of the land reflected across the bay appears fuzzy and smeared out. Continue reading The artist’s water
Powerful, the mass of water is rushing past me, a white blueish foaming torrent. Confined between the towering stone walls in the gorge, the river here has acquired a relentless quality, thrusting forward unstoppable.
Making sure that I stand on firm ground, I observe it. Falling into the deep river here, one would be lost, immediately being taken into the depths by the strong fraying currents. Here a man’s power matters little. Continue reading The natural flowform
Swish, swoosh, swish, swoosh, in a rhythmic pattern, the water swings to and fro in the vessel, a “flowform”, originally conceived by the British anthroposophist John Wilkes (1930-2011) in 1970 and since then developed into many shapes.
The incoming water flow, and the curved heart-shaped walls create the right conditions for a rhythmic flow to spontaneously emerge, to self-organize – a cooperative behaviour, which springs out naturally, effortlessly, from the conditions. The water molecules dance together. From vessel to vessel the dance continues, until the water reaches the pond below. Standing by the stair of flowforms, listening to the pulsating sound, it is as if it radiates tranquillity – a wild brook carved in stone. Continue reading Water’s pulse
The jet of water ejects out of the nozzle in a continuous, steady flow. Directing my eyes towards the opening, there is not a trace of pulsation.
Yet just slightly above, the dance has begun. As the upward movement is gradually lost, the water jet starts to twist and bend, like a rubber band being pushed.
Then it turns around and sweeps down, now on this side, now on that, now hitting the up going flow and, for a moment, almost extinguishing it, and then it moves on again, unpredictable. Never at rest, oscillating, yet not repeating itself – its aperiodic undulations never reveal what is next to come. Continue reading The water jet dances
Water’s inherent tendency to form patterns can be observed as simple as with ink droplets falling into water (preferably in a container with flat walls). The impact of the droplet creates vaulting toroidal forms, vortexes resembling jellyfish, and finally, when the motion slows down, settles into sinking octopus-like forms.
Studying and looking at the flow patterns can be really captivating. I once tried this experiment with children in kindergarten, who were amazed, and would stand dripping ink into the water for more than half an hour. Continue reading Ink droplets falling in water
As if they were carved out, the ripples in the water hover before my eyes. The gentle vortex flow pulls the water down, only to return it to the surface again, following the walls of the egg-shaped container. Round and round, the water seems to form a complete universe of its own. It is unavoidable to be affected by the stillness.
Clearly, water can affect our thoughts. But can our thoughts affect water? Could, for example, our consciousness change a property or structure in a water sample? And could such a change in water be observed? This the Russian scientists Lev Pyatnitsky and V. Fonkin asked themselves. Continue reading Water and consciouness