Let's go back to the beginning of photography.. To its substance...
But before read a few lines written by Chris Wilson.
I was sleeping..
I was alone..
I don’t recall..
Only the swish of the curtains across the edge of the pillow…
The white sun and her freckled back….
Will you undo my bra my darling?
I cant, I am asleep …
And then the meadow…
And the sheaths of grass that rose up and tattooed the shadow of the suns fire to our skin..
To the lake to the lake!
We must swim..
And the bare frame where the swing used to be..
I was drunk and she was laughing laughing…
Languid my darling, languid and far away but somehow here at the same time..
Don't you remember anything?
Be quiet and cover your eyes… now concentrate… hard..harder!
Do you see?
Article on this: Art as Artefacts