Fountainbleau

Miami Beach, Jan 2013

There was a time long ago when my friend was always sulking.  It was hard to watch.  A wry and wild woman's spirit breaking apart.  I couldn't comprehend this stage perhaps because I was younger by some years.  That can be enough of a hurdle.  Her proverbial window was closing.  One I managed to overlook.  It never occurred to me that I had a view.  I suck at acceptance, but have been good at being sensible about things beyond my reach.  She wanted to reach beyond the sea.  I once suggested making music and art were similar in heartache and reward, but the older woman I was speaking to had a shell to her ear.  I often wonder if my friend has any suggestions of her own to occupy her mind.

A Darkroom Diary

Bathroom for Butoh © 2010 (15x15 print in water)

2013 and the past permeates.  My parent's 25 year old home is a smokey wreck from a boiler eruption.  In order to save some of mine, I stayed over to oversee the clean-up crew.  Soot, grime, and dust is floating in the air.  Finding it's way into our nasal passages.  Clinging to everything we hold dear.  I hold.  'What is important' is the question we all must ask ourselves, I suppose, when shit burns.  There's no fire, but here I am putting it out none the less.