What Love Lays Bare In

I Want A History Of Looking. For The Photograph Is The Advent Of Myself As Other: A Cunning Dissociation Of Consciousness From Identity. Even Odder: It Was Before Photography That Men Had The Most To Say About The Vision Of The Double. Heautoscopy Was Compared With An Hallucinosis; For Centuries This Was A Great Mythic Theme.

In 1850, August Salzmann Photographed, Near Jerusalem, The Road To Beith-lehem (as It Was Spelled At The Time): Nothing But Stony Ground, Olive Trees; But Three Tenses Dizzy My Consciousness: My Present, The Time Of Jesus, And That Of The Photographer, All This Under The Instance Of 'reality' - And No Longer Through The Elaborations Of The Text, Whether Fictional Or Poetic, Which Itself Is Never Credible Down To The Root.

Flaubert Had Infinite Correction To Perform.

Take The Gesture, The Action Of Writing. I Have An Almost Obsessive Relation To Writing Instruments. I Often Switch From One Pen To Another Just For The Pleasure Of It. I Try Out New Ones. I Have Far Too Many Pens - I Don't Know What To Do With All Of Them! And Yet, As Soon As I See A New One, I Start Craving It. I Cannot Keep Myself From Buying Them.

Physically, The Ventoux Is Dreadful. Bald, It's The Spirit Of Dry: Its Climate (it Is Much More An Essence Of Climate Than A Geographic Place) Makes It A Damned Terrain, A Testing Place For Heroes, Something Like A Higher Hell.