Delaying, Moment by Moment

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I am in a fit of work.


All I see, I see through a lens. I have no other language available to me. I work on an image- set up, shooting, then tinkering, tinkering...until the image comes into its own and an ethereal light washes over the whole of me.

Print it, scan it, gaze at it, put it away.



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Begin.



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My hands shake like I have had too much coffee. Which I have had. What is not work flows by me as a stream of blurred images and unremembered conversations, noise and clutter. Only through the lens does the world come into focus. A small world, but one of my own making.

Although richer, somehow, than I can come to terms with.


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I am finding my way towards a language.



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Stumbling. Errant. Haphazard.



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I must hurry.



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