Avedon
Richard Avedon died today. Here's something I wrote a long time ago inspired by the photo above.
Ronald Fischer, beekeeper
Davis, California, 5/9/81
The beekeeper looks out from his portrait with cold eyes. Passionless eyes, like those of some subterranean creature, a refugee from the light of day. His skin blends, almost seamlessly with the white background. From his head to his waist he is hairless, a soft, toothless, fragile thing, like an invertebrate or albino. The only marks on his body, other than a few scattered freckles, are his bees. They crawl over his bald head and into his left ear, across the tender flesh of his neck, down over his sternum, his shoulders and arms. His nipples perk up as the bees scurry over them. His bees are a part of him, forming a symbiotic relationship. Or perhaps they are him. Perhaps he’s forgotten who he is apart from them. The beekeeper is serene, detached from the ceaseless manic swarm on the smooth plains of his flesh. His bees are frenzied, mindless action; desire without object. The beekeeper is silent, trapped in his frigid complacency. His lips betray nothing. He neither smiles nor frowns. He remembers neither loneliness nor regret. And his cold eyes stare beyond what he can see.