And so it reveals itself beneath itself, layers of caring, necessary coverings, all connected, all important for what they do, how they shield one another. We have layers too.We tend to forget that. We tend to float through our days, not knowing, not experiencing who we really are.
Thanks Erin for your words, is an incentive to keep doing things.The photo of the portrait that reminds you of Steichen's my daughter Clara, the nose is mine.I send you the text in Spanish to be able to translate it.FundirseA lo largo de estos años, todas las noches llama a mis sueños y aparece tras el cristal, con la misma mirada.Al principio pensé que si me alejaba, el sueñodesaparecería. Luego entendí que la pesadillavivía dentro de mí.Lo intenté todo incluso entré en el laberintopara salir de la penumbra. Allí me crucé conotras personas, solo me dijeron que no sepuede huir del destino.Ya no me asustan la noche ni sus sombras queme acompañan al menos puedo hablarles y noestoy solo.Hoy ha sido el único día que no le he visto lacara. Estaba de espaldas, impaciente.Hace tanto tiempo…Empiezas a envejecer, cuando te miras en elespejo y te pareces a tu padre.Esta mañana salgo al jardín. Hay hojas portodas partes. Si consigo fundirme con ellas,todo habrá acabado y desapareceré.
A wall breaks down, loses its strength. The corner of life, not this, an essay on the decrepitude? I like the image seems very baroque in concept, considering the transience of life.I do not know if your conscience were this terms, just my view.
Ah... so cool. I would love to have a wall that looked like this... there's just something about the texture of decay... I couldn't stand the mess though. Can I put your wall on my wall instead?
rosaria, it is our mission to not forget. it is our mission to be aware. and it is our mission to provoke those around us:) are you up for it? we only have so many years left.damaso, for me i post the translation, with a few tweaks that i have made to make it comprehensible. i hope i have't changed the meaning. i shall never know.MeltMerging over the years, every night calls to my dreams and appears behind the glass, with the same look. At first I thought that if I walked away, the dreams would disappear. Then I realized that the nightmare lived within me. I tried everything, even went into the maze to get out of the shadows. There I met other people and learned no can escape the fate. It does not scare me at night even though its shadows stay with me. At least I can talk with them when I'm alone. Today was the only day I have not seen the face. His back was impatient. It's been so long ... You start to get old when you look in the mirror and you look like your father. This morning I go out to the garden. There are leave everywhere. If I can merge with them, it's all over. I disappear.*** this is uncanny in its way. i suppose this is why some of us recognize one another. i have a post coming out tomorrow on my other blog. i read it and recorded it yesterday, wrote it a few years ago. what you will not see in the type is that i say we are little more than leaves. what you wrote, your series of photos, in its way feels very much like the poem i wrote though.thank you for this. i was thinking about it and you as i did my wood. i thought, how curious of all the photos i should pick out of your video i chose what would seem to me like the two most intimate photos, the one of your daughter, clara, and the one of you. i wonder what that says of you as an artist and of me, someone consuming your art.you're right about this photo. it was, upon its taking, more about the transience. the title came after, only this morning, as i responded to james' comment on the last post about consciousness, but i easily see how it could be either, or whatever else someone might think.steven, if you truly would like it email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and i will send the larger file. i post only small files. i'm not sure how the small file would translate into a photo. hopefully not so well. it is my hope that people at least ask before they take. i'd be honoured if you were truly interested. (i'm honoured even if you don't want it. you responded. that's enough.)xoerin
"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))