I am the muse, the photographer.and the scribe.
Which came first? A reasonable question.
The answer remains mysterious.
Ethereal as the twisted trees in a silent forest.
Shadowy as a room painted with sunlight.
Fluid as a heartbeat felt beneath my naked breast.
I’ve been working on this project for a couple of years now and excited about it’s birth into the world!
And here I find Paradise, nesting as omnipotent eyes in a fugitive’s crown. I am one with the Goddess for she dances regardless of time grasping beneath her feet.
The sun flails my flesh with his ardor. I know nothing of time. I balance between two worlds, willingly giving myself to the salt on his breath.
There is tenderness in the ruins. I know the story before it unfolds but I have nowhere to go but trace the heartless path with my ink.
I don’t know what to say to you. My mind has been stolen by the sound of the waves. The rhythm is tireless and speaks to each day. I don’t know what to think, under the unceasing sun. My logic has melted and sits in my hands. There’s time to be hopeful, to look at our fears. There’s no room for comfort but always for tears. I laugh at the vastness of empty belongings. The trees know the answer is deeply connected. The mountain is solid, yet crumbles away. No-one is wiser. There’s nothing to say.
I have had time to sit with my dreams and my fears and I am empty. Nothing but flesh and bones. If my mind wanders into dangerous territory I pick up my sketchbook and draw. I don’t know you at all. Do we ever know anyone?