The dreams are transforming now. Content no more transparent to me than ever in the past. My own symbols growing, melting, becoming vapor to keep dreams like the rising mists off Penobscot Bay.
Working to love the questions and not search for the answer. The answers seem to reside in the mists. Once you are in them, you cannot see them. You and the answer, all of the molecules of both are vibrating together and there is no difference between the two.
These are my questions now.
Here, or here?
How to print these recent dreams?
I long for the darkroom and silver prints that I can tone to please the mood that wants to whisper soft truth. How big is a whisper?
Is 16×20 too loud to speak such truth?
Do I tell my story true or do I create an Iowa for you to visit? (From the intro by Mark Power, “The results are these intimate photographs, private and beautiful...They are autobiographical vignettes, not environments, social landscapes, or documents.” Who wouldn’t want to emulate this?)