“The man’s the work. Something doesn’t come out of nothing.” Edward Hopper. Snow on snow on snow a frozen memory, the encasement of ice long melted, The Summer House is in season, so this season, never out of season. The beyondness of many things is brought to life in this photographic overload. It’s the pixilation of our lives, the exposition of our times. Carefully carving our cadences, breaking bad boundaries, our writing may be opaque – at times – but like a lucid camera, our keyboard never lies. We’re an atelier in transit, arbiters on the move, forever reordering hierarchies.
The Irish novelist Edna O’Brien believes “memory and language are the two best things a writer has”. We couldn’t agree more. Although we’d add camera too.
“Must the winter come so soon?
Night after night I hear the hungry deer
Wander weeping in the woods
And from his house of brittle bark hoots the frozen owl
Must the winter come so soon?
Here in this forest neither dawn nor sunset
Marks the passing of the days
It is a long winter here
Must the winter come so soon?” Vanessa by Samuel Barber