For aince it’s toomed my hert and brain, the thistle needs maun fa’ again.by
posthumousComment by ubique: It swooped around me. Just when I felt I was looking in the right direction, you disappeared, and then came up behind me, passed me by with a sort of chuckle. Or maybe I disappeared, and found myself approaching you, or where you'd been moments before, afresh.
I never quite felt oriented. But there were lines of force crackling all around, though not very loud. Just loud enough.
Henry's right, about the pact between the pictures and the words. I felt like you were teasing, in places, but you often have that will o' the wisp quality.
I did not follow everything. But I don't think I was meant to follow. I don't think that's what you wanted. It was more like a hall of mirrors (slightly ugly characterisation, sorry), with a different Don in every mirror.
Your reaction to your own pictures is very like your reaction to PH Award pictures, brevity and pith. A sort of distillation.
There were some beautiful allusions though; stand alone sparklers. The energy of the mystery ... Lost but comfortable, et al. Parts even greater than their sum, perhaps.
And, "This is what it looks like from my brain, someone is running toward me like he is trying to become me."
But the most beautiful of all was, "the calamity hardly seen, a volcano that fits in your hands has ruptured, has surrendered what's inside of it,"
An essay wrapped in the spirit of its subject. A philosophical onomatopoeia.
Thank you.
ETA I forgot to say, the pictures are more lovely for the words. No surprise there, but I mention it for the wretched souls who insist that a picture needs no words, nor even title.
Message edited by author 2015-01-04 02:02:19. 
Photographer found comment helpful.
