A day beside the seaside

I think where i am not, therefore i am where i do not think... The ring of meaning flees from our grasp along the verbal thread. What one ought to say is: I am not wherever i am the plaything of my thought. I think of what i am where i do not think to think...

Jaques Lacan 1977

The Art Of Truth

London - June 2010

"To the truth of art, external reality is irrelevant. Art creates its own reality, within which truth and the perfection of beauty is the infinite refinement of itself. History is very different. It is an empirical search for external truths, and for the best, most complete, and most profound external truths, in a maximal corresponding relationship with the absolute reality of past events."

David Hackett Fischer - University Professor and Earl Warren Professor of History at Brandeis Unviveristy

Move

I am forever on the great stairway that leads up to the world. On that infinitely wide and open stairway i clamber about, sometimes up, sometimes down, sometimes on the right, sometimes on the left, always in motion. But when i soar up with a supreme effort and can see the gate shining above me, i wake up on my old boat, still forlornly stranded in some earthly sea.
W. G. Sebald

Rethinking

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—	40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare	45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,	50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—	55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?	60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress	65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T. S. Eliot 1917

A Brief Introduction

A photography based, thought-fuelled, self-absorbed reflection of today.

If you think: yesterday i was, tomorrow i will be, you are thinking: i have done a little.
Be what you are becoming, without clinging to what you could have been, might be.
Let's leave definitiveness for the undecided; we don't need it.

Luce Irigaray