Thursday, February 17, 2011

A Room of One’s Own

I have such a difficult time completing essay’s, or writing a full piece of prose. Perhaps the reason is that I simply adore fragments. Well, maybe not so much a holy love of fragments so much as an intrinsic ability to conjure thoughts that are only a snippet from the whole.  
My mum’s favorite writer is Virginia Woolf, who as many of you know, did not necessarily invent the concept of the “stream of consciousness”, but certainly set up it’s precedence in modern literature.  Woolf, being the queen of putting on paper every little thought that crossed her brilliant brain, has subconsciously been floating on my camera lens ever since I started shooting.  I take a picture, suddenly inspired by a feeling in one part of the world, or at a time in my life, only to link it up later with it’s sister photo; not intending to sew them together, but needle stitch and thread they link, congeal together like an Eliot poem. 
I love quotes for one simple reason, they are ripped from their context and hang perfectly saturated in their own new meaning.  
Perhaps this is the reason why I love taking pictures.  No need for a long narrative, context is a factor yes, but not a mandate. Photography offers me a way to funnel my thoughts, to collage them together without an immediate need to produce an explanation.   
 In an effort to encourage the joys of savouring the part and not the sum, I leave you with words sung by my new favourite singer Nathaniel Rateliff: "I wanna run around willing, I guess you get too Hard to remeber and can't put a finger on it."

No comments:

Post a Comment