Story of time
Niarbyl, Isle of Man
2023
Is there is a way of holding in your heart the unknowable - can you love without form, can you love the parts you cannot reach, the darkness which holds everything? The field of undifferentiated night.
This is the body beyond our bodies - the body of the world. Blood running through arterial channels, pools of water holding memories of unknown suns, a depth of continuity incomprehensible to man.Visual memory is written in the language of light. In our lives what we do not know exceeds what we know by such a degree as to make it absurd, this tender, tiny light we shine. When the real substance of the world is the unseen, humility is the only recourse.And yet, I want to cut things up and start again. My camera, scissors carve channels, birth a new vision, an editorial rewrite. Folding time. Light flickers over the lip of a wave.My memory is full of blanks, not like they were not recorded but like there is a record of something else written over - gaps in the film, editorial omissions, swathes of dark for which I have no answer.It was like grappling with a beast hovering on the edge of vision this death this other world come to claim you. We lived with it, between worlds with you, holding on to you for as long as we could.Now I look backwards and I see time advancing across our lives, racing towards oblivion. So much light and beauty it is almost blinding, a heart might shy away from so much love.I've built you a world you’ll like mama, in the hope that you might come back.
