Wires cut through the sky
Beams and bridges cut the light on the ground
Into little triangles and the rails run around
Through the rust and the heat
That was Ironbound/Fancy Poultry.
Words can be so hard when written or spoken or thought in certain ways. When sung words can take on a beauty that transforms meaning that other forms of communication can not touch.
Earlier I was thinking a little about the 'Photo Cafe' this afternoon while walking. Thinking about why I make photographs. I probably have this thought every week, sometimes more consciously.
I'm given another coffee, "it'll make your life longer". A welcome treat.
Presence. This word keeps popping up in my notebook writings over the month. At some point I write 'my photographs tend towards presence rather than meaning'. But then I ask my self what 'presence' means for me. I try not to dig a hole for my self and ask what the presence of meaning means for me.
I suppose the thing about asking questions of and for myself is they usually tend towards a wondering. I come up with half-answers, and then wonder about the other bits. Never quite knowing in a conclusive way, but a knowing for my self in a wondering way.
My photography seems to be about wandering and wondering, the presence of a photograph is a trace of what has been
And then what?
Over time the photographs stay the same, they are fixed in time and space. They become reference points, the meaning for me is not fixed. I might use words to 'fix' the meaning of odd photos, but the words themselves are only fixed for that time. The photographs and words may resonate now, maybe, probably in different ways. I wonder what has changed, how things have changed, a casual wondering. Some photographs have a stronger resonance than others, a stronger presence for me, they have some sort of meaningfulness. I feel this meaningfulness is something I don't particularly want to fix with words. So words resonate. Photographs resonate. My world of photographs and my world of words co-exist, they are separate entities.