an image diary

"And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be? ... You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream! If that there King was to wake you'd go out -- bang! -- just like a candle!"

"Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well it's no use your talking about waking him when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

Thursday, March 22, 2007

. . . .

3-19-2007-17



Lyle pointed out once there are few people in my pictures, at least in ones I post here, but it's the chance portrait I love best, facial expressions, gestures of hands and heads, textures of clothing, skin, hair, and the incidental light--the variables you can't control with a snapshot. Either it takes great love or great aesthetic distance to photograph people, maybe both at once, I feel that somehow, am confused by what feels wrong in it, but to show the photographs is unequivocally to stare. To look for their presence without their knowledge of my looking. Our looking. Because now I am showing you what I mean: see them? I don't know who they are. Only that as they walked into the banquet hall together, he was blinded by the sun in the window. Only that he gazes in my direction because I stand in his path. He cannot see me in the darkness ahead of him, but he knows, they both know, the camera is taking their picture. I am speaking to them, holding them up, thanking them. They are poised and triangulated. This is their composure together. For now, they tolerate being seen.

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&.

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"and what is the use of a book...without pictures or conversations?"


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