A photograph is really a fable of light balanced on cones and rods and lateral inhibitions, but branded in two dimensions. And you can get lost in the spatiality much as you can dive into a thesaurus and confirm all the different ways it takes to say that you saw something. Then, there’s the medical jargon, and the hyphothetical codex. It goes on.
But a photograph is a concern. A place to sink your myth inside of. You can hold on to it. You can imagine being in it. But you won’t be. And there comes the fable, the story that is, the galloping, the pursuit, the offscreen happenings.
Cars from one particular place in time, a dust coated store and the dust coated items inside that you cannot see and land reduced to dirt as it is reformed by machines large as jetplanes. But they stand out of frame and the fable continues, until you realize all of the things that aren’t there aren’t there for a reason, and that’s when the story starts to get interesting.
Three Images by Sant Khalsa
Three Paragraphs by Hank Cherry
