Absent Portrait

An incisively deconstructed photograph. MY frames breathe from beyond their estranged coordinates and then a sudden trace of ingenuity strikes hard at the precarious nonchalance that’s my skill. Emotional curvature re-aligns at the same flawed angle as the stoic stills. Doors keep opening into events –untold or foretold. There is no perfect moment, like there is no perfect angle. Time is spread across the length of the somber, glowing, dark-veined fields of quartz enveloped by the brackish aftertaste of the Equatorial fault lines. The expressions defy linearity, so does the Artiste. The narrative doesn’t always register a forward movement. It is allowed levity to explore the side fields too. Movement across places and people. Patches of flora–rising, falling, crushed and wild. All athwart. Raw and random. Imbalanced and desirous. Pressing forward despite indications that the oeuvre might collapse right behind you, suffocating amidst the Victorian walls of the Galleria. This thinly veiled derision for order gives way to something brilliantly turbulent and stimulating, like fatherhood or freedom. They fuse into one solid sketch of self-discovery. The doubts subside. You’ve been granted an anonymous frontier. Exult.

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~ by iconoplastic on August 25, 2006.

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