Fractals are in us, and around us, from the infinitesimal to the infinite, they represent that cusp where one is flummoxed about mathematics being an art or a science… a flower to a cosmos, there is a sense of immortality that they exude, a never ending series of patterns mimicked by nature in the cycle of life and death…
In the mountains though, they meet their match in another shape – triangles – which to the naked eye seem to make the fractals pause… ‘tis a difficult debate… the fickle nature of a Fibonacci against the stout demeanour of a Pythagorean… the former an embodiment of the living in micro, the latter a testament to the orderliness of the macro… in mathematical theory, the golden ratio and the triangle occupy their own separate culverts… in nature, especially mountains, they are inextricably intertwined…
For the pedestrian, life seems more fractal in the flower near one’s feet, and triangles dominate the horizon in large massifs… for centuries intellectuals have pondered over the aesthetic beauty of the former, from flowers to snow flakes to the branches of trees, yet triangles often seem to be under studied…
From the perspective of visual aesthetics, sharp, compact triangles are more appealing… in mountains, peaks with clean, clear lines leading up to the summits, an isosceles with a small base looks more condescending than say, an equilateral massif… as they seem to flatten out, they become less attractive…
And this is where the fun begins… where the triangles seem to become obscure, fractals take over the baton and start imprinting themselves on the senses… think rolling meadows carpeting the milder undulations, in spring, summer and fall, a blasphemy of colours and smells emerge from the fractals, in winters, one can revel in curvaceous geometry of snowflakes…
Yet this demarcation is only a theoretical attempt to delineate the two shapes in order to understand one’s own perception… one might think they have a semblance of clarity staring at a triangular massif, yet gaze long enough it will break down into fractals of its own… mountains are curves scolded into lines by geological forces… the ones that comply spire up to dizzying heights yet find themselves cold and lonely, the diffident of the lot remain transfixed at their feet yet are blessed with more life and colour… the irony of it all, they say…
irrational numbers in nature…
Musings on visual aesthetics of mountains…
