Weekends, weeks, months, even years speed by, entombing life in a retrospective silicon vitrine: a dim reflection of what it could be, or, even more passive, what it could have been. Life actually holds no interest for me except as it is. Five days on the road, three of those on foot in the bush, walking dry washes, wet canyons, fracture zones, sage forests, and several fault lines. Ancient barbed wire: almost garroted at one point. That would have been messy and, off trail, not discovered until late in the season, a scatter of catamount-stripped, bleached and cracked bones. Plenty of those stumbled on over the years. The only other impingement on body was a gashed shin whilst climbing high up on the flank of the Mitten Park fault scarp, will carry that scar for many moons, trace of a single misstep.

Some random conversations ensue in the campground, but mostly solitary bush-walking, ravens are curious when I initiate a dialogue, they circle closer (with sun at their backs in a clever move to keep me blinded, watching). The dry washes become the site of photographic essay, so empty and barren is the imagination. The in-sight of things draws mind to travel that thin line between madness and be-ing. It is impossible to re-present those things because they aren’t things at all. They are merely manifestations. They are fields of action, activated flow. No wonder that the representations are so pale and thin. Sagebrush, flower, rampart, water-washed stone, lizard, and, finally, days later, skin, activated and living skin.

more “what’s new?”