I want to write and can't, wrung so dry by the small, relentless, tedious mental calisthenics of work that there are no words left. It hurts. So I find myself photographing shop-window signs and graffiti, clutching at found words, tossing in play-words. Place, self, colour, word: take a picture, make a pattern of perceptions, give me some reflection of existence.
:-(
ReplyDeleteHugs. I wish I could fix it.
What you do do is still wonderful. But it's hard, I know.
ReplyDeletework is such a nuisance when it saps your artistic energy...I do sympathise
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry it's so hard though out of it come wonderful photos.
ReplyDelete