under the dark surge of a nightmare she said, saying I grew up there & was a very tall teenager being drafted as a model at the age of twelve posing sometimes with men three times my age � they were uncontroversial i thought nothing of it except i didn't know what to � feel receiving a glove or fading into a sweet man's arms � learning eventually that i could take a photograph myself focusing on darkness, at first then graduating to the dance of light on shade, shoulder on curious hip movement & melody of the contraction of fluid muscles in time even honoring my presence by projecting a frieze that was best seen from my, only my, perspective the one i chose, perhaps by chance, but reflecting my command my artistry � there is "the dance" & then there are the dances i choose the latter, that i may interrupt stepping out of the frame of the photographer & into the frieze integrate though not to influence, to eclipse, as if i'd ever want to � i've had enough of being seen & if not enough, found it boring � no here i danced but cut the sweep into moments, the light into sleeves that embrace quick figures that might never have been seen or even happened i would hardly have time to speculate � when there, comes another! out of darkness, a flame that is liquid on ash, a glowing molten thing � i bruise the focus i turn it into waves or a head in the shape of a kidney bean or a smear of legs that bleeds like spilled ink (for disbelief is one of the possibilities in the experience of beauty) & standing there, not quite transfixed � after all, i am working � i am anticipating the love that i have already forgotten but that will arrive in the darkroom � the pink camera tempered by the hinge of the body! i played no part in it but somehow, one finds the moment has returned � i am there
— For Miana Grafals and Boaz Barkan
|
No comments:
Post a Comment