not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

book and table


it's a quiet night.  he picks up a book and begins to read.  the story might go anywhere despite what the words drilled onto the page might suggest.  it is this way with writing, with love, with each new day, with life;  the story becomes what the story becomes.

4 comments:

  1. And so the story goes, and the writer is just a medium...

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  2. thank you, laura. i am often surprised by what the camera will do, as though it is a person waiting for an opportunity to create its own art.

    andreas, yes! each story, literal and metaphorical, a bird!

    rosaria, the writer and each of us inside our lives, only the medium. the art, the living, it does not ask for permission. it uses us as a conduit and becomes. we are lowly bodies. but as lowly bodies it is our job to look to our bodies and love what is possible.

    xo
    erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))