Nymphlight, 1957 Joseph Cornell and Rudy Burckhardt
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tilly Losch, c. 1935 Joseph Cornell
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tilly Losch, 1928 E. O. Hoppé
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Untitled Allan Davey
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
come and find me
if i could trace the line that ran between your smile and your sleight of hand i'd guess that you put something up my sleeve now every time i see your face the bells ring in a far-off place we can find each other this way i believe
from the hills and up behind, my town is naked from the horizon down the curvature is pressed against the raise and we walked up in the fields alone the silence fell just like a stone that got lost in the wild blue and the gravel grey
come and find me now come and find me now
though i'm here in this far-off place my air is not your time and space i draw you close with every breath you don't know it's right until it's wrong you don't know it's yours until it's gone i didn't know that it was home ‘til you up and left
come and find me now come and find me now i keep you in a flower vase your fatalism, crooked face with the daisies and the violet brocades and i keep me in a vacant lot in the ivy's forget-me-nots hoping you will come and untangle me one of these days
Like the hills under dusk you fall away from the light: you deepen: the green light darkens and you are nearly lost: only so much light as stars keep manifests your face: the total night in myself raves for the light along your lips.
A.R. Ammons
Deena de dos, 1955 Willy Ronis
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Best Time of the Day
Cool summer nights. Windows open. Lamps burning. Fruit in the bowl. And your head on my shoulder. These the happiest moments in the day.
Next to the early morning hours, of course. And the time just before lunch. And the afternoon, and early evening hours. But I do love
these summer nights. Even more, I think, than those other times. The work finished for the day. And no one can reach us now. Or ever.
In a landscape of having to repeat. Noticing that she does, that he does and so on. The underlying cause is as absent as rain. Yet one remembers rain even in its absence and an attendant quiet. If illusion descends or the very word you've been looking for. He remembers looking at the photograph, green and gray squares, undefined. How perfectly ordinary someone says looking at the same thing or I'd like to get to the bottom of that one. When it is raining it is raining for all time and then it isn't and when she looked at him, as he remembers it, the landscape moved closer than ever and she did and now he can hardly remember what it was like.