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

Saturday, January 5, 2013

bones of the tamarack

there are the bones of people i love.  some of them are inside living bodies.  some of them are inside of bodies whose skin has rotted away and whose bones are no longer bones but instead are closer in likeness to the soil that enshrouds them.  there are people in this world that i love who i have never met.  there are people in this world who i will love who i do not even know exist yet. 

what can this possibly mean?

when i drive to work i drive by this tamarack.  i love this tree.  i have knowingly and lovingly driven by it for ten years but for many years before i passed it by without seeing it. 

it will, most likely, outlast me.

what of all this love?  what form will the love then take?


  1. I love the text and the issues it raises our condition here which unfortunately remain unanswered. This is our tragic condition in this world .... The picture is beautiful... I like these shades of grey and white

    1. our tragic condition

      yes, our glorious and tragic condition. what would we be otherwise? nothing. and yet sometimes nothing looks terribly tempting.


  2. Replies
    1. La finitude m’intéresse comme elle t'intéresse parceque nous vivons les yeux grands ouverts. Seuls les aveugles s'en désintéressent et pourtant, un jour ils arriveront à leur terme. Bien conscient que la nature qui m'accueille et dans laquelle je travaille pour mon art, me survivra., je fais en sorte de l'honorer tous les jours.
      J'aime tes photos.


  3. roger, your perseverance is an honour to witness. your belief is balm.

    how is it possible that you love my photos? this seems strictly impossible.



"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))