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

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

investigation of self IV: intangible


7 comments:

  1. skills - you sure can pull out and pull off and key image of life

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  2. two very intimate photos...you pull off muted detail very well

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  3. gives off a sadness, like cold...excellent photo.

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  4. liz, we are all disastrous to one another, aren't we? and we are all salvation, too. this is the danger of truly living. i think of one of my favorite poems, Waking This Morning by Muriel Rukeyser:


    Waking this morning,
    a violent woman in the violent day
    Laughing.
    Past the line of memory
    along the long body of your life
    in which move childhood, youth, your lifetime of touch,
    eyes, lips, chest, belly, sex, legs, to the waves of the sheet.
    I look past the little plant
    on the city windowsill
    to the tall flowers bookshaped, crushed together in greed,
    the river flashing flowing corroded,
    the intricate harbor and the sea, the wars, the moon, the planets,
    all who people space
    in the sun visible invisible.
    African violets in the light
    breathing, in a breathing universe. I want strong peace, and delight,
    the wild good.
    I want to make my touch poems:
    to find my morning, to find you entire
    alive moving among the anti-touch people.

    I say across the waves of the air to you:
    today once more
    I will try to be non-violent
    one more day
    this morning, waking the world away
    in the violent day.

    ollie, thank you. it was a moment.

    thanks, tom. i'm so often surprised by how little we are. (and too, by how much.)

    yes, peter, i thought so, too. i thought, melancholy and pain, but there is joy also. always there is joy.

    xo
    erin

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  5. I like both pictures, with the same technique of sfumato photo (I just made it up) for my as intangible and boundless and one as the other. but the important thing is the peace that the two faces off.
    Saludos

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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))