The day was bathed in a deep, agreeable light. There was a scintillating energy and buzz to the overall palette, forming a flat weave of color that dwarfed what darkness and depression had thought possible to dominate. The sky held this splendour, all a vertiginous backdrop to the dizzying tints, the glow drawing in a collective awe.
Everything gravitated towards this, an influence bearing down on it all, drawing us to what seemed important, what held only a momentary significance. I was being offered a modern view of appreciating the brilliance from which no one could look away, from which I couldn’t refuse. It was the latest, most modern phase of seeing, as if we were recreating the circumstance of perspective. It wasn’t just about choosing your subject, it was thinking about them in a different context, giving them a different setting. A different light.
I did this every so often, setting myself in the search of things to make life matter more. But then, of course, it was all contrived, deliberately created, made artificial by my desire for it to exist. The day refused all potentiality of realism. I rejected all possibility of truth.
This was the first time I photographed the art.