More images from the nature reserve at Oare, as the failing light softened everything still further and the low orange sun turned the reeds into serried ranks of stiff copper pennons.
Oare, Late November #3 (2020)
More images from the nature reserve at Oare, as the failing light softened everything still further and the low orange sun turned the reeds into serried ranks of stiff copper pennons.
Red's Kingdom 
My thoughts are fractious and oft move by their own injunction; I’m cold in this waste of frags. My text lacks innervation, do you not think so? In silence, I cannot find it; nor have I seen it under the folds of speech. I do sometimes return to these photographs of yours, and its inexplicable what I feel for them, the magnetism, the eccentricity.
We’re taught many things, and above most, we’re taught our place in things, our thingness. Beneath the mimetic and the thematic or the architectural quality of my rhetoric, I don’t think I shall ever have the power to transmit fully the depth, width and texture of my wounds. How utterly obliterated, how utterly mad, how maddeningly robbed I feel, of everything. Dürer is my ladder and Shakespeare my solace and Celan my terror, but beneath and beyond all there is this lunar rainbow where all is collected as a sentiment of porosity to this world, and that’s what I get from you: the magnificent emptiness, the enviable lack, the weir of thingness we live in perpetual longing for. That I live in perpetual longing for. And I could almost draw myself along this grass, a little place to decay. What a lavish request.
Thank you for your Art, Phil. May I one day give someone the aesthetic space you’ve provided me.
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João-Maria! Where have you been? I hope you’re doing okay out there. I’ve been thinking about you. For a wordsmith, you have been quiet of late. But that you should pop up again here to scatter your erudition beneath these photographs is a welcome surprise. I feel sometimes that my blog may be clogged with a surfeit of grass. I am very happy you find in them some of what I find when I’m out in these spaces and so greedily snap snap snap, trying to gather it all in. I should probably picture-edit these responses more strictly and share fewer iterations than I do, but it seems I’m too greedy to cull them! Anyway, your comments are like rich food, to be nibbled at and returned to. I hope all is well, and I hope you’re writing lots, and if not ‘lots’ then satisfyingly.
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