A Marriage of styles and
Truthful Fiction
“Knitting Histories”
I have been knitting histories together for decades: There was never a master plan: I realized that everyday, every siting, every capture and voice had the tiniest thread of meaning: Each piece of matter has made a tapestry of events:
The days I imagined became a novella imagined: There has not been a single capture that could not be a fictional account: But my days have been weirdly real: Quilted logic gathered: Mythopoetic dreams appear: Daily I feel the acceleration of passions unleashed: Mapping beauty becomes as it became a play about architectural history unveiled: It is a desirous endeavor: The iconic and the common have posed as part of an unquenchable universe that matters: Home may be Montezuma, or a playpen of Modernists and Brutalists designs: The unimaginable awaits: Pyramids and dozens of curvaceous adamantine are there to be seen in my films.
I imagine I have had Telekinetic relationships with my cameras for decades: Every slight site I might see, I might hear is captured: My companionship with said reflex cameras seems like a good place to call home.
Seconds in Dubai
The world I pass through is not mine: Vision is nothing without voices: It belongs to the voices of others: My world once, was a list of names and voices played out across continents and cities- - like a children’s game of Jacks: Oscar Niemeyer, Joan Didion, Andy Warhol, Yo Yo Ma, Edward Kennedy, Joan Miro, David Hockney, Kirk Douglas, Miles Davis, Gore Vidal, Frank Gehry, and thousands more saw my camera through their eyes. History mattered: I was invited into the lair of others:
I respect the invite: The unimaginable exchange of words- -the presence of minds will never be forgotten: Yet outside of those many thousands of thousand moments I am on my own to dig up the exculpatory proof that I have lived: What matters is there is a trace: Then the volumes of discoveries become my private celebration.
“Mapping Beauty” is remembering the boundaries the pitter-patter my steps echoed along the travels of time: My master plan was an unintentional dictionary’s version of happenstance: I gravitated towards the bigger universe- - to see the entirety: Yet over time I cropped universes and narrowed perspectives to fit my own identity: I realized as I walked in the steps of the famed and common, I gathered (like prey saving for another day) a set of empirical ideas:
Along the Netherland’s Rails
Ahead of sight, another way of life splayed ahead- -Parisian Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann, the Copenhagen Finger Plan, the grids of Washington D.C, Corbusier’ Chandigarh, Niemeyer/Costa Brasilia laid the premise for a new direction: I only needed to determine how far I would need to travel- -travel to understand the complexity of an unknown agenda: I daily measure the distance between waves as the seafarer I imagine. The inexplicable lies between each wave as a needed template to imagine my ways.
With tools and toys in hand- - my heart appears: I imagine things in solitude like the (Forest-Witch), scientist, ecologist and natural phenomenon Simona Kossak- - I too am alone in my own private nature: Architecture is my forest it is where and why I preserve my celluloid: The silence that Kossak lived within Poland is not mine: My silence is filled with a bounty of cacophony but I believe my eyes capture the silence: As Kossak studied the natural among wolves, my silence lives in everyday built captures- -I preserve my everywhere : I imagine my everything: I imagine a lilt among wolves- -I am imagine peering over the shoulder of Beatrice Potters’ charming animated days: My camera sees the natural world with a profound remembrance: I see the only world I know: I cannot explain, but I always carry Miles Davis’ Dingo in case I need to realize my imagination is almost real.
Frank Gehry and