posthumous honours me with the royal blue tatters. How often must I draw from the well of his compassion before I realize that photography is not about photography?
Woot! 2 10's and 8 2's!
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the look of the woman, the continuation of the lines from the limbs to the door, the interaction of the hand with the two being watched - it all combined makes a novel
Stories within stories, within movies, within Hitchcock within a French New Wave. They say a movie is a dream. This photo is a dream. It cried out to me. It told me that this cold, empty site had no outerwear for it. I am not without compassion. And so, I tear my shirt into ribbons and give you the blue one.
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