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

Thursday, October 25, 2012


(the girl laughs at me for all kinds of reasons.  my voice is wrong, my inflection, my words, what is behind my words, my ideas, what is behind my ideas - what came before ideas?  even my knees are wrong, my body, my shape, my size.  my smell.  my smell is wrong.  i am about to speak.  i am about to think.  i am about to be wrong.  what?  what is she afraid of?)


  1. Erin,
    it is normal to ask questions in our respective lives. What is not normal it is not to arise every day; you are sensitive and then! It is rather a quality not? Cross your life in complete peace, for the worse or for the better, act as it seems to you, your images are grand, this image gives evidence of it amply! Does it make of you a bad person? I think not! Motörhead said on one of their songs : stay clean! It is not given to everybody, consider I!
    Best regards. Jorge

  2. "What is she afraid of?" Good question. It must be the right of the young to question everything.

  3. beautiful beautiful beautiful! with this i see the way.

  4. That girl you speak of that laughs at me and never lets me have a moments peace with myself is me. And around it goes.

  5. Everything is wrong about us. We are truly blessed, my friend.

  6. i never thought for a moment to consider that anyone might think this was an internal dialogue. to consider it is a wow moment and so i stand back and through this see an older dialogue. once it might have been but now it is a dialogue between my daughter and i. mostly i'm good with myself, however trying and trying to make myself my true size. she struggles in all sorts of amazing ways. i'm only learning as i go along how to love her in the best way and help her along her journey.



  7. i came across this poem, andreas, after posting this photograph and i thought, ohhhh, she doesn't know this yet, that failing is not failing but instead is only failing and that living is the blessing~

    I Imagine the Gods | Jack Gilbert

    I imagine the gods saying, We will
    make it up to you. We will give you
    three wishes, they say. Let me see
    the squirrels again, I tell them.
    Let me eat some of the great hog
    stuffed and roasted on its giant spit
    and put out, steaming, into the winter
    of my neighborhood when I was usually
    too broke to afford even the hundred grams
    I ate so happily walking up the cobbles,
    past the Street of the Moon
    and the Street of the Birdcage-Makers,
    the Street of Silence and the Street
    of the Little Pissing. We can give you
    wisdom, they say in their rich voices.
    Let me go at last to Hugette, I say,
    the Algerian student with her huge eyes
    who timidly invited me to her room
    when I was too young and bewildered
    that first year in Paris.
    Let me at least fail at my life.
    Think, they say patiently, we could
    make you famous again. Let me fall
    in love one last time, I beg them.
    Teach me mortality, frighten me
    into the present. Help me to find
    the heft of these days. That the nights
    will be full enough and my heart feral.


  8. The fact that you are even questioning, concerned, caring, wondering, thinking, loving... that is what love is and what will help her through her journey. What a great mom you are! Love the perspective of the photo and your thoughts. I'm so very glad I came across this today. It reminds me how lucky I am to be able to be an integral part of my own daughter's life.


  9. Great photo!! I LOVE it...


  10. That's an amazingly beautiful photo, Erin.

    Oh, those turbulent teen years!! In a moment, they turn from loving, sweet little girls into hormonal monsters. Imagine my house when my 2 daughters and I were all on our periods and PMSing like a bitch. That's when my hubby got the nickname of 'poor ray'. LOL! The good news is that it passes. xoxo

  11. Replies
    1. valery, this is how i know this place (and another like this) - holy!))))



"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))