Light is the blind spot, from which spurs the desire to see. I see those trees, this table, this chair, because I am irrevocably, irreparably, blind. Light is the medium, through which I see what I desire, except desire itself. Light is desire – that, which can never see itself and can never be seen. Light sees nothing. Nothing is the pulsating heart that can never be seen.
On airy spring days, pointing the camera toward the heart of the blinding light, I can see it – this desire, this passion, that, which can never be seen. Lingering in the air's shadow , clinging like a ghost mold to the floors and the chairs, it decomposes and swallows the objects it has expulsated in its desire to see, to be seen.
* Dedicated to Starn Brothers
