possibly.
all I know is that last night I snuggled up with my beloved after a week's absence, or years, possibly, it felt like years, since the memory card in my camera stopped working and the camera wouldn't turn on, and in the morning the first thing I saw was its slim silver paintspattered self there on the mattress beside me, strung on a black cord.
oh it's good to have it working again, last night I took 268 pictures in the dark in the candlelight, in a daze, blissful.
and this morning we're off to the shed, despite the gloomy grey sky and the rain promising/threatening. to take more pictures it's possible no one but me will ever see, and that's neither here nor there to me, not miserly or secretive with shame or doubt, nothing but a need fulfilled, the shutter hush-clicking over and over until it becomes a meditation and I forget everything, let go even the possibility of names and purposes.
and.
I have a holga camera on its beautiful way to me, I am so excited I can barely stop singing to type this.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
and again my husband asks, are you writing a book over there?
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4 comments:
Not one of life's more fashionable deprivations but real enough. I feel somehow undone if I go out without a camera, in case it is the day when I'm presented with the perfect image and all I'll be able to do is lament its unrecorded passing.
Or maybe I should just get a life.
Looking forward to seeing the results of your nocturnal picture making.
well just the other day we were driving back from the beach and all I had to take a picture with was my husband's cameraphone, which takes piddly little pictures. and there was the sun going down halfway into a cloud, with a semi-circle of light coming out around it in bars like a halo, AND a hazy rainbow around that.
the nocturnal picture making is about to be downloaded to the groaning hard drive, along with the morning's series of pictures. we'll see if anything interesting develops.
(I'm so sorry. I didn't feel like resisting the obvious and yet, seeing as how I never print anything and this isn't film anyway, inaccurate pun.)
Never resist a pun, Shara, life's too short.
I think the writing part of my brain works like the cameras you two carry around with you. I have often stood stock still for eons just trying to frame what I see in the best words.
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