The beauty of the sunset

The beauty of the sunset

Many people believe that the beauty of a sunset lies in its intricate colors, textures, geometric shapes, and the appearance of the sun as it sets. In fact, there are quite a few who take the sunset for granted, and so they sit and wait for it—not as a unique entity of nature but as a natural phenomenon of little significance.

Others have romanticized it so much that they believe certain islands are the only suitable locations for this photo opportunity. They think it’s romantic to be with your significant other as the sun sets and take a selfie.

Others, however, are completely indifferent to this phenomenon—or at least appear to be—and ignore the fact that this might be the last time they see something like this in this lifetime. Because no one has signed a contract with life. But that’s another story.

The beauty of the sunset, however, lies neither in the colors nor in the sun. It lies in the moments each of us savors, whether in company or alone. It is the ritual of “dolce far niente,” as the Italians say. The noble art of observing something without rushing. Without turning away. Without feeling the need to photograph it because you “have to” or because “it will end.”

Because if you sit down and really think about it, nothing “has to” happen—beyond certain moral principles and ideals—and everything will “come to an end” except for our very existence. So, there’s no point in rushing to capture the perfect shot.

And yet, in a photo-centric society, where we all need proof to be sure that something happened, how can we prove that we “saw something” or simply that we experienced it, lived through it—whatever the case may be?

Is it really that important anymore to watch a sunset and appreciate its beauty, and then post it on social media? It’s like back in the day when you’d be in a square, and after you’d taken a film photo of the sunset and had it developed, you’d shout: “Hey, look at me, I took a picture of the sunset.”

But seriously, if you can’t admire something, you can’t document it, you can’t take a picture of it—then what’s the point of going there in the first place?

The short answer is to experience it. To try to see what the objective beauty of a sunset is. Yes, the subjectivity it will evoke in you, the opinion you’ll form, the emotions you’ll feel while looking at it.

We are free people, yet at the same time bound by our habits and our limiting beliefs. “I have to do this,” “I owe it to myself to do that,” and so on—every time we see something beautiful and feel the need to photograph it.

But, believe me, the sunset will come again, with or without us. It’s a given—not forever, but for what we consider to be “forever.” And certainly, photographing it isn’t a bad thing. On the contrary, it sharpens your artistic eye. However, intention is the key: the right intention, the right photograph, a connection with emotion and thought, a connection with myself.

Because, in the end, the beauty of the sunset lies in what you cannot take—or at least what nature does not allow you to possess—the end. But also in the hope, the anticipation, that the sunrise will come, and then the sunset again.

And perhaps the beauty in such situations lies not only in the obvious, but in what we do not see, in what we do not feel at first glance, in what we do not want to process.

And so the sunset becomes an “object” of matter that we cannot possess or grasp, but only observe and appreciate. And so, fully surrendering to its beauty becomes the only path to realizing that, in the end, it is beautiful.

Because it has always been beautiful. All we needed—and still need—is the eyes, the gaze, and the mind to realize it...