(no subject)
Dying peacefully on New Year's Day, 1958, at Wildcat Hill...
...is what I read about your father's death in a book
of your photography. I'm not even sure where that is,
but I imagine at some time, a wild cat pawing away at
unnamable yellow flowers. I've always been mesmerized
by the trigger fluidity of cat limbs. That's probably
how your father's head dropped, but in slow motion. A
little ironic with a life based on a camera shutter.
You talked about that blind moment behind the shutter,
but I can't quite remember what it said, but I believe
that's the single 64th of a second that you really see.
Not like photographs. Beyond reality and the frame.
For the first time, I'd experienced someone with an
appreciation for the abstract in reality. With some
developing substance, no one could tell what was real
and what was reflection. Concise with an 8x10 sheet
of negative film. I always filled that space with
too many words for nothing that matters.
For Brett Weston.
...is what I read about your father's death in a book
of your photography. I'm not even sure where that is,
but I imagine at some time, a wild cat pawing away at
unnamable yellow flowers. I've always been mesmerized
by the trigger fluidity of cat limbs. That's probably
how your father's head dropped, but in slow motion. A
little ironic with a life based on a camera shutter.
You talked about that blind moment behind the shutter,
but I can't quite remember what it said, but I believe
that's the single 64th of a second that you really see.
Not like photographs. Beyond reality and the frame.
For the first time, I'd experienced someone with an
appreciation for the abstract in reality. With some
developing substance, no one could tell what was real
and what was reflection. Concise with an 8x10 sheet
of negative film. I always filled that space with
too many words for nothing that matters.
For Brett Weston.