Duane Michals once said something that I recall when I view nearly any photograph: Photographers never photograph what they can’t see, and of course the most important things are what you can’t see. It’s what you feel. What you feel is much more important than what you can see. And so that is why I had to write—why I had to find other ways of expressing myself.”

To see a photograph not as a captured image of what is or what was… but as a portal, an entryway into what cannot be seen, what is magical, what is beyond, what is felt. The photos of Duane Michals are always journeys. Oftentimes we meet him. Sometimes we encounter ourselves. The mirrors, the double exposures, the symmetry, and the play of image/text… all an invitation from Baudelaire: Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.

I just can’t figure it out.

Too many algorithms, and I am lost. Time to head back to the forest in order to discover.

(Away from the screens, away from the wipe boards.)

I have a friend named Kace who adores the Cyrillic letter ж.

Kace writes many letters to me, and early on in our correspondence, he ended each letter very simply: Love, Kace.

Over time though, this became Love, K which evolved into LK, but as he began to write LK very quickly, this eventually morphed into the shape of the magnificent Cyrillic letter ж which (as I said above) he absolutely loves.

For those interested, it is pronounced “zh” as in Zhivago.

Kace loves how it resembles a sword and shield or, more sublimely, a lovely little butterfly that takes flight from writer to reader. And thus, now, each of his letters ends with a

ж

—shorthand for—
Love Kace

The magical ruins at Moray, Peru.

A Kafka Metamorphosis—

One morning, when I woke from troubled dreams, I found myself transformed in my bed into a Kandinsky painting. I lay on my scratchy canvas-like back, and if I lifted my head a little I could see my red and yellow torso, slightly domed and divided by arches—as if Wassily had been up all night turning me into a work of art.

One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.

Today’s my birthday.

So I’m just gonna doodle.

The infinite… A myriad… Ten Thousand things

The Tao Te Ching
by Lao Tzu

1
As for the Way, the Way that can be spoken of is not the constant Way;
As for names, the name that can be named is not the constant name.
The nameless is the beginning of the ten thousand things;
The named is the mother of the ten thousand things.

Therefore, those constantly without desires, by this means will perceive its subtlety.
Those constantly with desires, by this means will see only that which they yearn for and seek.

These two together emerge;
They have different names yet they’re called the same;
That which is even more profound that the profound—
The gateway of all subtleties.

Ma-wang-tui version
Translated by Robert G. Henricks, 1989
https://terebess.hu/english/tao/henricks.html#Kap01

Signa horse —
Shape-shifting symbols.
Protector of Innocents and Destroyer of Time.
Lightning swift ego puncture,
Dispersing millions of mind kites.
Radiant black.
Glimmering sword.
Soft seed sounds of feminine mystery.
Coiled potency.
Whirling spirals of consciousness.
Wisdom

image: oxana prantl

When…

In a time of despair…

Remember the flowers…

The WRX is mythic.

If you don’t own one, you just can’t relate. There’s something otherworldly and awesome about this car (and I am super biased with my 2013 hatch). I love this anime design. Captures the feel of looking at one, of driving one.

Two fingers up…

A Torso of Men

Composite male images.

Wabi = elegance, simplicity.

Sabi = delight in that which is imperfect.

The concept of wabi-sabi aligns with the saying The glass is already broken.

In this age of clutter and hoarding and possessions, there is a delight and a healing that comes with the lack of attachment to any object. It is already broken. Impermanence. It’s not meant to last.

I meditate on one of these bowls: I can imagine the perfect state it was in long ago. I can envision its being dropped and broken to bits. But, now, healed with liquid gold and made whole, there is a greater beauty in its having-been-brokenness. Each of us is broken and that can be celebrated.