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

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

once there were leaves

once where there were leaves
now there is silence
a heartbeat between two cupped hands
a hair's length before the talk begins again
of when and where and how
new leaves will grow


  1. This post touches me in a special way, special, make me a nostalgia of Vienna ... my old apartment that I left, my woods, the river, the streets .. but more really the 4 walls where I lived during so many years... in this two lamps I can see the life that passed by... wonderfull shot Erin really touch me a lot
    as you know the pain of not knowing what is there now ... is the nostalgia

  2. laura, you are a gift to me:)

    what you say of nostalgia - i come into it like swimming through it as water and want to say, really, laura, this is it? this is nostalgia? and i think it quite brilliant, a new examination of nostalgia for me, rather than missing the moments of was, missing the moments of now and knowledge. holy holy! i love this. there is great truth to this, greater perhaps than the retrospective view of nostalgia. have you seen woody allen's new movie, midnight in paris, that deals with nostalgia? i feel i could watch it again now and see it anew.

    you have such a lovely sadness.


  3. but there is the question, too, isn't there, of not just what was, but what will be? we are between the two always.)

  4. new leaves and flowers...
    i think this is the counterpart to your wonderful image.

  5. roxana, i'll repeat what pensum said, wow.

    quickly taking in some of Mayumi Terada's images leaves me staggered. it feels like there is nowhere in my life quite that clean. or perhaps it comes from inside of Mayumi Terada herself.

    AND THEN I READ that these landscapes are created miniatures and my mind leaves the building like gum stuck to the bottom of Elvis' shoe.

    There is a feeling of distinct absence about these spaces, a lingering absence, an intentional view of a reality that once existed, but has since disappeared. Terada’s photographs defer any rational sense of scale, lending a peculiar, less than ordinary, perspective to the rooms and an uncanny sense of proportion. Her practice is a composite of self-taught techniques that belong equally to sculpture, painting, architecture, and photography. Together they work to express a profound tension of time and space, emitting a mystery that purposely eludes our sensory perception. Terada constructs her dollhouse rooms from foam-core, cardboard, and wood, with tiny furnishings cut and glued from paper, fabrics, plastic, and metals. The end result is not these intimate constructions in themselves, but the black-and-white photograph that Terada makes of it, using only natural light. Like childhood doll’s play, Terada’s miniature sanctuaries are contemplative reflections that refer both directly and indirectly to the body. The conceptual aspect of her work oscillates between the virtual and tactile realities that underpin contemporary life. What is curious about these photographs is the extent to which their visual tensions depend on the coordination of hand and eye.

    i am stunned and in love with the possibilities.

    wow takes on much deeper meaning.



"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))