Sometimes words just slip off the page.
Each formed letter gently falling into a small pile on a black desk.
This happens inaudibly. There is no punctuation at the end of this falling.
When you try to pick up these letters and reshape them, they dissolve at your touch.
You are left only with vague impressions and blurred thoughts.
Fragments on your fingertips.
My head is full of art history texts about ‘the photograph’.
I’ve been thinking about photography, painting, and drawing, and how they relate to one another. The seductive pull of these things and how they feel so necessary.
I keep pushing this series further into the realm of painting, but I like what’s happening.
I am currently stuck on the word pencil. It feels full of meaning somehow.
(Have you ever looked at this?: The Pencil of Nature )
© Karen McRae, 2012