And so. So Far…
“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.”
Photos, snaps, photographs, pictures - are curious things.
I think we forget sometimes - what photographs are, these ephemeral notes - tucked away in our pockets, tacked on fridges, dusty in lonely frames. More than a moment simply frozen, more than the past speaking softly of things unremembered, more than a pretty scene.
Moments that hold so much more than we could know - then. One sixtieth of a second - blink and its gone. Framed memories that are painted in light and echo things unsaid but seen.
Things that at the time seemed episodic and mundane but have grown as defining caches of who we are today and who we may become. Of what we once were, and who we will never be again.
Of souls that will forever sit in our own centers, holding our hearts tight. Of wet noses pressed to smeared windows - excitement writ in every line. Of abandoned spaces holding the echoes of laughter and tears. Of frozen mornings, softened by a warm, brown eye. Of beauty in building, ripping and tearing - thwacking and griding to the cadence of poignant profanity. A purple hazed morning to feathered death, draped in dew. Flickering reflections, melancholy and flitting. A small light, amidst the dimness.
To finally, a scene so everyday - framed in black and white - a yearning to chase so profound - looking out.
How curious, these photographs.
And so.
