Whatness is concerned with content.
In the solemnity of every hour life returns.
– Frederick Sommer
I know dead birds are a cliche but I was late and I’d forgotten something, turned around and there he was. What was I to do? I quickly wrapped it up and carried him with me.
My therapist isn’t concerned with meaning or interpretations or possabilities. She never asks why. She says, what does the bird want? She says, what do you need?
I don’t have a lot of words this summer; trouble enough to put down this much. The studio is a mess and I no longer know what I’m working towards. I unfolded the paper and it looked like this. I made the exposure; I buried him with the irises.
Between teaching and working and everything else there isn’t always a lot left for consideration. Just, I don’t think it wanted to be left there on the sidewalk. I mean, I don’t think he wanted to be left there like that.
made for a recent exchange for The Postcard Collective