Iron

Iron
Originally uploaded by poeticaldistractions

Boat

Boat
Originally uploaded by poeticaldistractions

Face

Face
Originally uploaded by poeticaldistractions

Bull

Bull
Originally uploaded by poeticaldistractions

Shifting Cities

Traveling means never being in one place for more than 4 nights. It also means taking lots of photographs. During March/April I traveled for 5 weeks, starting in Madrid and heading down to southern Spain, then up the eastern coast to Barcelona and southern France. Afterwards, I went down the western coast of Italy and up the eastern, stopped in Venice on my way to Munich, which itself was only a stop on my way to Amsterdam. Then I went to Paris. Here I got to see the the de Chirico painting "The Uncertainty of the Poet" which is definitely one of my favorites, and which I was upset not to see the last time I went to the Tate Modern in London - because it was on loan to Le musée d’Art moderne in Paris. When I returned to London, this was the only thing I was missing.

See these photos, and please go here to see more photos.

*****

She said something about something that suggested something else like that eternal Starry Night set in the room.

FOAM

"My photographs don't go below the surface. They don't go below anything. They're readings of the surface." - Richard Avedon, 1980

FOAM

Something sticky or...light. Not photographic light, light that equals weightlessness. Like a soul.

I watched an interview documentary of Richard Avedon today, after pondering his photographs. He talked about his shoots; looking. Who is in control of the photograph? The end-product? The photographer or the subject?

They said that he was able to reveal the actuality of the people in his portraits. He looked, they looked back. Yet their actuality was always the reflection of his own: questions, answers. Foam, or something like it.

Firenze, Roma, Bologna...

Still traveling. 

The days get longer and the distance, too. The separation more complete, as Saskia once said about my poetry. There was never any pain, but the desire now less acute. I say these things objectively, from far away, but don't know what will happen later. I say these things after more than two weeks, more than two miles, more than two thoughts. 

You know that feeling on a train, that feeling of movement only and not actual movement? That is the trajectory of my mind, I think. 

Morte al pacifista. (Italian graffiti, Firenze)