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Fractals are generally considered highly mathematical, geometrically based structures, computer-generated and precisely constructed. But they are present everywhere, everywhere. These infinitely recurring patterns, in which structures are constructed of smaller versions of themselves, which are in turn constructed of yet smaller versions, are organic. They manifest themselves everywhere, be the scale microscopic or larger than perceivable to the eye.

How? The arrangement of veins on a leaf, for instance, is translatable to the arrangement of the branches’ spacing, which in turn might be translatable to the tree’s growth patterns or range distribution. There is a method in the shapes of waterways, their curvatures, erosion patterns. There is a pattern in the ridges of mountains, in the way lightning forks, in the formation of crystals, of the shapes and proportions of life-forms, for limbs and facial features and the famously cited nautilus shell spiral. The Fibonacci number and golden ratio are not purely isolated, theoretical concepts that exist only as abstracts. They just happen to be the most efficient way for organic forms to grow and propagate, for inorganic ones to form. It’s physics.

Slime molds are another oft-cited example; planted on a map of existing cities, for instance, it will develop optimal paths for nutrient transport—paths that very nearly exactly model actual major roads and highways. Patterns are not restricted to static structures, for in movements (eddies in a rivulet or air current) and behaviors (flocks, swarms) there is also something to be mapped.

Here, Catherine Ulitsky creates geometric networks out of flocks of starlings.

In another instance, photographer Thomas Jackson’s Emergent Behavior series is “inspired by self-organizing, ‘emergent’ systems in nature such as termite best wining today mounds, swarming locusts, schooling fish and flocking birds,” organic systems consisting of individuals but behaving as cohesive entities. This, posits a commentator, “[creates] an uneasy interplay between the natural and the manufactured and the real and the imaginary.”

The forms and shapes and patterns we observe everywhere are not as arbitrary as we are inclined to think. They organize themselves into strikingly orderly arrangements, creating forms that manmade designs might care to imitate.

With all the fury and fervor surrounding the Presidential election, particularly Tuesday’s momentous win for Barack Obama, I cannot help but have politics on the brain. The notion of patriotic art, however, is one I try to refrain from. Trust me, I love nothing more than artwork that conveys a political message of sorts (my passion for art began with Britain’s YBA who are infamous for their outlandish and provocative art). But artwork that displays a spirited passion for America?  That’s something I could pass on.

Or so I thought. I then remember Jasper Johns and his incredible flag paintings – combinations of oil paints, encaustic, collage and fabric. The works are stunning – in initial viewing they appear as mere depictions of the American flag, but further musing reveals the mastery and technique of Johns. The work below, titled Flag, is on view at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. The painting was created in 1955 and is 42 by 60 inches, approximately. Beneath the paint are glimmers of the newspaper that Johns used as part of his artistic process – newspaper that forever acts as a time capsule – an unadulterated portal into the past.

While the flag itself is beautiful, I am most enchanted by the technique of Johns – the duality and complexity inherent in the work and the value of the newspaper acting as a barometer of the time when the work was completed. The work may be visually appealing, but I think there’s nothing cooler than a work of art that reveals a slice of history – especially a slice so pristine as newspaper clippings.

So it’s the day of the election, which means that I’m going to be spending a long night staring at my computer screen refreshing Huffington Post and probably spending too much money on comfort foods and possibly ordering pizza house. But y’know. That’s pretty much every Tuesday night for me, except for that election part.

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The one thing that really makes me feel so strange about the election is how ridiculously unifying it is. I mean, to be totally fair it’s not unifying at all, but consider for a second that most everyone in the country has something to say about two men. There are two men out there right now that are being talked about more than anything else. You say the word “Romney” or “Obama” and it feels like you are speaking a raindrop that has traveled halfway across the world to fall upon your tongue. You know these men. You probably don’t know them, but you do. You have judgements on their character, on their opinions, and probably know at least something about their respective dogs.

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It strikes me sometimes that the world is global and that the butterfly effect is real. It strikes me sometimes that I am a person within an ecosystem within an ecosystem within a way of life within the world and I have a part in this reality. It’s a tremendous honor to be a human being and be where I am now, but it is a tremendous responsibility. It’s in many ways the honor I feel as an artist. I’m called to be something that is hugely important, to be a person that expresses and comments and keeps check on and celebrates and frightens and learns and cries. It’s an incredible responsibility. It’s an incredible task.

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I hope the election goes the way I want it to, but if it doesn’t, the world will keep flying through space and turning and turning and turning. Four years will pass and I will experience this strange awareness again, this odd overwhelming mix of duty, awe, and being totally overwhelmed. I’m proud to have taken part in America’s democratic process and I think that’s a pretty incredible feeling. I also think it’s worth taking note of the huge sphere of influence this election has over our lives. Not in the policy that comes from it, but from the social influence of campaigns and partisanship. I don’t know if I like that influence but I don’t really know if I like the influence that my stress eating habits have over my life, either. But so it goes. Another day, more food, more music, more life.

It’s a drug. It may not be marijuana or ecstasy or moonrocks acid Robitussin heroin meth, but it is most definitely a drug. You can’t buy it on the street; you can’t put it in your pocket. You can’t eat, snort, smell, shoot, or smoke it. You can’t pass it in a circle or offer some to your friends. You can’t even touch it. But when it starts, there’s no stopping it. It’s the taste that gets you going. The want need desire to find more. But I couldn’t even tell you where to find it if I tried.

Walking down the streets, no one knows your secret. You think about it on your way to class, watching the slide change and change, lights flashing, numbers words and pictures constantly written, but this never stops the need for a fix. The thing itself is innocuous, enjoyable when consumed in moderation. That’s how it is for most, anyway. A healthy dosage can be enough to make you satisfied. Enough so that you don’t have to get out of your seat during class because the thought of sitting in class while you learn about price points and net present value isn’t too much for you to handle while thinking about it. Enough so that you don’t miss the punch line to the joke your friend tells you on the walk home, or that you don’t have to re-read that page another five times to understand that it’s just a housing contract.

In most cases, you’re fine. It’s when you have the taste of that one type that sets you off. It’s different for everyone, which is what makes it so potent. Even if I tried to let you have a taste of mine, you wouldn’t understand. A drug so powerful that it changes your life. Ideals that you once held are now turned upside down inside out and thrown across the yard. The approach to your goals that you’ve stuck with forever are suddenly reevaluated. Then it becomes what you think, smell, taste, dance, carry with you everywhere and always because you can’t get enough. The all consuming nature can be tragically euphoric. Your whole world is changed. Colors brighter and darker at the same time, music playing to the beat of the influence. People staring because they don’t understand but it doesn’t even matter because what matters is that you have it.

It’s everywhere, in the air, water, sunlight, laughter and tears. It’s the drive from the tragedy you just witnessed, the inspiration for a life changing endeavor, the song that made you understand why they did that to you. It’s in everyone, but its finding that one spec out of a million that makes the change. It’s an unexplained desire to be consumed by it, and devote every waking moment you have to making sure that you have more of it ; live it ; breath it; taste smell and feel it between your fingers.

Have you found yours?