part one
I went from traveler to vagabond when my love of exploring new places got confused with my impulse to run. One year became five. People moved on with their lives, like I had meant to do with my own. Now I am filled with ghosts and landscapes and I do not know what to do with them. Months and years tear from the calendar, one after the other, and the pages carried off by a cartoon dust cloud behind a speeding car.
Photographs are indeed life markers, but not always because of their content, location, or the person depicted, but simply because there happens to be a photograph in the first place. This is where a photo's true value can grow out from too. From It’s own mysterious presence in the world, demanding that we connect with it then leaving us full of questions. How can photos of a seemingly insignificant moment in life become as precious to us as the actual life defining memories where no photographs were made at all? Perhaps photographs are artifacts from our lives and possessing them is proof of our participation in it
Without photographs I would truly be lost in time in a world without gravity, and all the pictures that were not taken when I had the chance, will float there, like dust in the sunlight of a room where I lay on the floor slowly regaining consciousness.
I really enjoyed this thought process.
ReplyDeleteThanks. Part 2 on it's way.
ReplyDelete