The entire planet is insignificant until we are not: The infinite worlds above we cannot count: We are small: All that resides above us is an infinite collection: Worlds never to be known, never to be known: Nothing is infinite below us: It is us: I celebrate the lives before my yesterday:
The imagined bend in the river mingles with Naipul’s A Bend in the River : The often considered narrative story and the imagined vanishing point lives in lives past and about: Its brilliance is brilliant: The closer we get to a reality the more we dream about what is beyond the bend:
The imagination may subjectively be about bending facts about fictions: The real vanishes as we move close and afar: The impossible becomes possible: Something becomes:
Journeys are often about what may be discovered: The dream of what may be discovered: The corners of the global planet are waiting:
Monuments and memorials are arguably about fractions: The fractions of our history’s population: The fractions of lives lost: mourned: celebrated:
Wim Wenders Wings of Desire approaches the separation between those who are us and those who are our past: Every which way you look at it; we are us:
We often lament what was once: We desire to have one more word: We have lost something someone from our past: We merely desire to meet again with: We have stories that are incomplete: We reach to lives past merely to touch: Touch their voices: We have heard the last words: We lend that story to those around us: Then there is the future’s share of this past: What monuments and memorials may be to some:
The death of the past is so much more interesting in hindsight: It offers us a key: That key allows us to unlock a sophisticated interlacing of our emotions entwined with man’s history and our own: An immersion of words and worlds; Emotions are linked to a woven weave of yesterday, tomorrow and today:
We entertain visiting monuments and memorials for numerous purposes: The purpose is central to “I”: Certainly we visit the dead: Certainly, we speak to our histories: Certainly, we may imagine: Certainly, there is that moment: Certainly, we hear the worst of our lament: Our sorrows are “us”:
I disappear to another capture: I often inadvertently visit the dead. The stone and earth you remember become my camera’s capture:
The many memorials and monuments are legacies to the revolutions of time: A record of life in frames: My camera allows me to expose the hidden discretions equally: I think with what my eyes might hear:
I remember ferrying across: Paris, Moscow, Kyiv, Berlin, Istanbul, Bangladesh, New Orleans, another fifty states, cities and various continents: Memories distort reality: Reality is mostly distorted:
I have never seen atrocities: I have seen notorious burial grounds: I have seen forgotten burial grounds: There upright somewhere in our minds are monuments and memorials to things we have seen, things we have dreamed: For something better and worse there is always more to remember.
There was a tectonic shake the night my grandfather was buried: The entire family laughed: Some joked that my grandfather, Lou, bellowed, ”tell me it ain’t true”. It was a certain end to a life lived.
I am neither an excavator or exhumer: I am neither an historian or anthropologist:
My camera merely allows me to see what might be a dig, a discovery or an invention:
The stories or less that I see are always present: Looking for a truth buried when it rises right below your eyes is what movies and novels are made from: The most exacting truth for me are my hours sitting alongside monuments of memorials, memorials monumental reliving lives that are not mine:
I know my history: I know how genuine the atrocities by demons before us have lived: I will never knowingly live in that arena:
The globe for me is too large to see in my lifetime: I carry with me from city to city memories of things: Chaos and more that I have imagined: Someone’s past, living or dead is a peek into history’s human behavior.
If you will consider that I have stood in front of ten thousand built environments: Then allow yourself to imagine how the minutes become hours; the hours become days; the days become years; my life becomes: My photography may only be beginning.