In linguistics a sign is something that points to something else,
and in some way, shape or form, everything is a sign,
everything points to something else by virtue of its existence,
we therefore always live in interpretation,
making sense of signs,
understanding say, smoke to indicate fire, clouds to indicate rain,
harsh words to indicate anger or fear,
a hug, to indicate love,
a painting to indicate a subject.
As much as we would like to believe we observe the real,
we only ever interpret the believed in,
our hoped for, our wanted or not,
we only ever therefore see possibilities,
and because the possibilities we see are our own making,
the possibilities we see are the originals themselves.
In the Dahlia on my wall I do not see a copy,
I see the original itself,
I see myself experiencing a unique moment in time,
one that has already passed,
as I constantly pass and am made new again,
accepting that in each occurrence of myself,
I am the original.