
Everywhere the surface was changing, crumbling to dust, washing away … Gradients of color, broken edges quickly softened. Never straight lines, only gravity pulling water on paths of least resistance.
Everywhere the surface was changing, crumbling to dust, washing away … Gradients of color, broken edges quickly softened. Never straight lines, only gravity pulling water on paths of least resistance.
In the course of my travels I have had many unforgettable conversations, many from dusk to till dawn, entire train and plane rides, fascinating people with incredible stories or theories on the point of our existence, and yet, more often than not, it’s the conversations in silence I remember most fondly.
“Once I saw a barge with a small very happy dog patrolling the deck, he seemed to have a good life travelling the canals and rivers.”
Late in the evenings we often go out for one last patrol. The are bats flying about and often one or two owls calling. The dog is very active, tracking the scents of small animals. He looks good in the moonlight.
I too hope to raise the dead; only for me, it is symbolically through photography.
“We are still in Entebbe, the virus is still evolving and we are trying to keep track of the changes. The bamboo continues to grow, there is another generation of marigolds blooming.”
The Monkees couldn’t put a foot wrong for this ten-year old boy, yet to worry about small parts and auditions … yet to discover that they weren’t in fact cool, because they were manufactured and didn’t write their own songs, yet to discover that despite all that they were still brilliant.
And the idea of living a pure heroic life dedicated to your art is naturally selfish and few attempt it without collateral emotional damage to their nearest and dearest. I get it and maybe that is why the songs move me so much.