an image is something that is leftover when we look away. the memory that lingers when the rest has gone. something in the shadow, or next to the light is the way our eyes fall upon an image. ignorantly, in the bright white of an empty morning, when we wake up without a reminder of where we are, the sight. suprisingly, when we come across the legs of a lover without recognizing whose they are. elegantly, in the style of someone who knows how to stride swiftly or slow down, to smell the flowers on the side of the road.
image is everything but a visual. image is composition, the way one thing falls atop another. relationships, motion, and placement. the arrangement of a bouquet of life, is here in the image. a cup of coffee on the counter table top of a well spent day in the break of afternoon. just beyond the linzer tart with a dollop of cream and a saucer of sugar and a small pot of milk, that sits beyond the window in the green grass. out there in the meadow where the horses play. the image of your beauty, but never in a mirror. image is the fresh sights of life, and the old.
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