the art of photo graphic blacks and whites

and when they dominated our visual sense and facile acuity

they defied the steeped and saturated natural colours that spilled into our eyes

as they gaped 

                        gagged

choked on its ribald viscousness  

                                                      its immense  oozing   menses

a ruptured dike unfitted by a finger

our introduction I thought was sanctioned by her photo graphic blacks and whites

she was an artists model

                                            a black chokered cropped-head blonde

Coy

naked on an unmade bed

posed
           poignantly

  

who held her round chin dropped slightly turned to her left shoulder as if she either gazed at her illuminated breast(her other breast vertically bisected through her nipple by a soft gray shadow of her profile) or if she pondered the warm curls between her thighs as she rested on her right hip

                                                                                                      turned ever-so-slightly towards the viewer

ME

her lighting was affectionate

but I struggled

                         I struggled between looking only at her

and at the white concrete or plastered wall behind her  crenellated by thin horizontal strokes  created either by a toothed trowel or overlayed with fabric that when it set the fabric was yanked off it

just above the height of her head to her right was a peephole punched into the wall  and on the walls face  drawn in charcoal or crayon  was a cubist image  an elongated horses head  wideeyed  eyelashed  and to its right an equally tall lopsided bottle

   

over the crenellations it was impossible to draw a straight line

perhaps the artist didnt prefer them 

                                                            their long wavering vertical lines  broken by the models body  provided an exquisite tension

the peekhole was filled by an eye

an eye competing with mine

although I was determined it was destine to lose out to the unrestrained latitude I enjoyed looking at her

                                                                                                                                                                          watching her

yet it watched too and was nearer her

and for that I was jealous

jealous of its proximity 

  

for its whispering to her

  

which I couldnt hear

she couldnt hear me

I was outside the frame

I was a voyeur

at a peephole too

though I couldnt prattle or try to seduce her

I couldnt inflame her

No   I could not

that peeking eye existed more than I did

 

it locked inside that 35 mm frame with her

                                                                                             And because of it
because of the photo graphic black and white image 

I sought her 

                                           

eventually I found her

I introduced myself

she reared away  she said I was brazen

I am no more brazen than you  I saw your modeling  Your beautiful graphic photo

Ah  then perhaps you might appreciate that seeing my modeling is not an invitation

or does it makes us familiar

You have the advantage of knowing me by sight and only in the slightest most pretentious way possible

A knowing informed only by what you have ascribed to me

I was modeling

 

It is my job to be plastic  to be an instrument in the artists hands and hopefully fulfill their concept  assimilate their vision  help them to realise their art 

 

You have unfortunately mistaken me for a fiction     you created  alone

I created!

She was right I was wrong

as she spoke I became irate

but then listening to her  really listening  it subsided 

I turned the situation around and imagined if I were her

how would I feel

I was embarrassed

I understood then too  

                                    the reason of the frame  its enforced separateness  the perpetualness of that solitary  virtual timeless moment   its invocation  its plenary creation  the plants and fruits and seeds that resulted from its monad

I am terribly sorry please accept my apologises  I am embarassed 

Thank you very much  I truly appreciate that   

I accept your apology

I turned away and left her be

while walking I recognised

                                             not only wasnt it as heavy a lift I thought it would have been

but that my fiction despite holding the Truth in hand  remained intact

There is the Truth 

 

and there are stories

evening,  Twosday,  15  9. 15

 1237,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  16  9. 15