We remember things in our own way. Is there romance among the garbage bins? Not nearly as much as there is in the Nikon retouch menu. I shall remember things the way I want, not the way they may be seen in the non-imagination.
there is the old and new, fences, knees, hips… they all need the occasional new part installed. Wood eye? Probably.
Sometimes the fat boy runs, but rarely does he do 20.
There is talent, ivy-league talent, even if the message is not so obvious. Is the Harvard message so outlined that it is easy to read?
Yep, talent I say. Done in the fading twilight, probably under the influence, but what more could a mowed-grass, weeded-garden, barbeque-pit, mortgaged, homeowner want but an ash pail Picasso to adorn the back gate?
Perhaps the powers that created everything from volcanoes to gnats have an organizational plan in mind of which we can only glimpse shadows and side-bar menus. Bucky Fuller may have caught a bigger piece out of the corner of his eye.
That outline thing, perhaps a gnat would be seeing this like thus, perhaps not, but this image is one of many thousands within a hundred yards of the gate. Imagine the miles of kudzu and trillions of flowers. Organized in frames we will never even dream of.
nothing but net, and a passing lens
We have plans and dreams. They hinge on things going our way, and our way is not the only way. It looks so wrong, but that swinging gate closes by itself, requiring continual effort to remain open, (like life?)
Impermanance on varied scales
Proof that it needn’t all make sense. Order is so often used to insulate the random accumulation of life.
