I walked home.
I walked home today, too, though I imagine I looked less like a Giacometti alien than you did…
I’m enjoying this series very much, Edward. Each portrait is imbued with sadness, burdened by a poetics of melancholy. I wonder if these portraits are in some kind of dialogue with Maggie Nelson’s Bluets, which ponders pain and perception and the perception of pain and the pain of perception.
i’m still figuring out the series as i go along, but i like what you guys say. The title of Maggie Nelson’s book was in my head when I started the series. And I wondered, could I use that word – “bluets” – as a genre marker, to help me string the pieces together, or to suggest a narrative if a narrative was lacking. And then I looked up “bluets” and saw it was a little flower. Which suggested something about the form.
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