Wednesday 25 June 2014

WRITING WITH LIGHT 4

"Words lead to deeds, they prepare the soul, make it ready, and move it to tenderness."

"Everyone should have two voices: one truthful, the other natural."

Walking with friends, in the mountains overlooking Kobe. Walking along the dry remains of an old river, depleted by the construction of a dam. Little flowers growing in the white soil… Suddenly I knew I was on the earth. Photographing the end of the river, the flowers… When I photograph things I feel like I’m in the same space as them. I never feel like this photographing people. I’m reading books with titles like ‘The Burnt Book’, ‘Architecture and Body’, ‘Birdsong’…

I never photograph ‘strangeness’, I never photograph what is ‘new’, I only photograph what is ‘home’ - whether a place or a state of mind - at moments when it needs to be thought about in a specific way. I’m not a ‘photographer’, I just use the camera as a way of thinking about something a little more clearly. Today, for example: photographing the corners of rooms and the edges of trees while thinking about you. Now I need the right questions to keep me going - or none at all. A touch, a word, just a simple word to show that you’re taking me with you - or none at all. Miracle or dream.

Walking to the train station listening to a friend’s audio-letter on my walkman. All around me it was a beautiful winter day, with chill air and a clear sky, but from the walkman the sound of a monsoon recorded in Malaysia filled my ears… My body knew it wasn’t raining, but still, it was listening…



I’m reading about a blind woman in a Japanese university. She's living alone and coping fine, she just needs help with certain things, such as not knowing when a lightbulb needs replacing.  "Of course it makes no difference to me, the light, but its nice for the neighbours not to see my house always in darkness...."   And i wonder if i will i ever have that level of awareness. 

Last night in a dream a woman told me the secret of writing. She said writing essentially consists of two words placed next to each other, over and over. I’m not sure how much I understood, but now I’m thinking of Dante, ‘walking’ the Commedia into existence; the haiku poets, for whom each haiku is a breath… I’m thinking about walking (one of the simplest means available for feeling a sense of control in one’s life) and the possibility of walking into - or out of - language.

No comments:

Post a Comment