This is not really a series, or an entry in that series, but this was born out of frustration, and very much a happy accident. I had finished a very long edit on another image, almost a week on one image, and I felt it got away from me, and I felt a little disappointed in how it turned out. Sometimes, when I finish a monster edit, I tend to retreat to a simple portrait, or an image that does not strain, or exceed its grasp. This started out like that. I have made a few images before combining tree textures with the human form, but this one is leagues better than those, and this one spoke to me.

 

All the elements in this composite were shot yesterday while walking in a farm field, except for the model shot, which is a few months old. Maybe it was the wild, expansive field and fertile cloud cover, or just the desire to work with some new elements, but as soon as I blended the tree photo (a wonderful specimen, with tangled roots and decay and details aplenty) with the model shot, they fit like a glove. To establish some elements in the background, I added a new sky and field from yesterdays brief walk, and…that was it.

 

No matter what else I added to this piece, it rejected it. This enigmatic being, staring into the camera, didn't tell a story outright, but there are a lot of stories implied or easily applied, and for once, I enjoyed not knowing the blueprint. I added some fire to one arm - not sure why, but I think I was trying to imply the roots of violence, the beginning of our nature of destruction, in an ancient being more of the earth than we are now, yet still the violence of the species is evident.

 

Regarding the title, it is a song by Paul Simon, and the lyric is vague and obscure, but it seems to be referring to our common traits the world over - all races have a common thread, a human primer encoded in us all, and we are all the same. The myth of fingerprints, that we are unique, perhaps. beneath the skin, is indeed a myth!

Model: Gilberto Mendez.

"Puer Aeternus" - Art imitates life, or the other way around in this case. This piece was started two weeks ago today, and nothing has ever gestated this long before without reaching completion. What was the hangup? Well, after the session with this model, after reviewing the raw shots, I chose this one to work on first, thinking it was weird, dynamic, had some movement and tension. What did it mean? I thought immediately of birth, of struggling to emerge, like a hatchling pushing out of an egg. Easy right? Well, not really. First there was the tonality issue - like the brightness of the white fabric, and the need to punch up the overall brightness without blowing it out completely. Then there was the table, and what to do with it. Where was this person? Inside or outdoors? I wanted the fence in there, I liked the detail and shape of it, so didn't that mean outside environment? At one point, I overlaid the table with a checkerboard pattern, and that gave it a very Alice in Wonderland aesthetic, but then, how did that factor into my theme of inability to come out, to arrive, to mature? I even rationalized its existence, arguing that this character, like everyone, is in the game of life and has the same start we all do…but no, it's too much of a stretch, too much an incongruity. The nest was a late addition, and crucial, to making this piece make sense, at least to me. By placing the egg below and in front of him, his struggle to emerge at the mid point, and above, all the birdhouses, which imply a need to fly, Feathers added a sense of struggle, of movement. Late into this, I decided to give some movement to the birdhouses as well, and suddenly the piece wasn't looking so static. The last thing to grapple with was the color scheme. With so many layers (over 100) the colors were all over the place, and I needed something to tame them, but not go monochrome. I wanted some color, but not cheery, and not desolate either. I wanted it to be Rembrant tonally, or at least rich, warm and muted. I think I finally got all that, at least to the point where I can be comfortable calling it complete, without feeling like I cut corners. I have never pursued one or so long without it finally yielding to me, and maybe it was a block, or, going back to my first point, maybe the birth of this piece was a difficult as the birth being depicted in the image in the first place!

 

Regarding the title, Puer Aeternus means "eternal boy" or someone, even an old man, who does not mature. psychologically it is an older man whose emotional life has remained at an adolescent level. In the modern vernacular, it's Peter Pan Syndrome.

 

Model: Felix

 

This image is intended to be open-ended, subject to interpretation. The title is from the song "And Hiding Away" by Innocence Mission, and the first verse:

 

I prize the cloudy, tearing sky
for the thoughts that flap and fly.
For staying in and reading by.
For sitting under.

 

Model: Felix

Given the rest of the film, I am not sure my impression of the scene is the right interpretation, but if it was in fact depicting one of our ancient forefathers, an ancient astronaut from another world, it was truly a bold vision of it - it was done by the alien with an almost spiritual or religious reverence.

 

Imagine a race so evolved that it considered the highest purpose on could fulfill was the seeding of other worlds with life, from its own DNA. Imagine if these spiritual beings considered their life cycle complete by self-sacrifice for the priveledge of seeding a new world, of being the progenitor of a new race of beings.

 

That was my interpretation, and it inspired this image, which took a very long time to bring to life, and didn't know what it wanted to be for days and days. I decided to let my love of SciFi out for this one, creating an environment vaguely alien, and distorting the model's body significantly to appear a little less ordinary human. His body is in the process of a violent destruction but he seems at peace, calmly looking forward, or at his hand, perhaps contemplating his own corporeal existence one last time before it diminishes and becomes the particles from which new life springs.

 

It would be a fantastic realization, if this, or a version of this, was our genesis.

 

About the image: Extensive physical altering of the model, to make him more gaunt and slightly alien in appearance - including a texture overlay on his skin, damage, dust, and fire from within. The scenery was a color altered grassy field nearby, and the shy is composed of two sky shots. The plants and the debris around the large star in the sky were decorative orbs, and the ladders represent the ladders of the DNA strand, some going up into the sky off frame, some reaching the ground of the world our ancient alien is seeding. The cables emanating from his pubis symbolize umbilicus, the cords providing life-sustaining nutrition to a newborn world, and also, I wanted a reference to procreation and reproduction.

 

My title references Galadriel's speech in Lord of the Rings after she resists the temptation of the Ring of Power Her powers will diminish and she can now return home.

 

Thank you for viewing and reading!

"After The Fair" -  The Red Balloons ride again! Every time I think my little series with the red balloons is over, concluded, final and complete, a few months later, I seem to find another angle for them. For me, this is a bonus - I loved working on that series, and having a recurring metaphor and a visual hook to play with. This makes #12 in the series, which, until this point, was solely depicted using one of the younger models I work with, Gilberto Mendez, and I regard those other eleven as some of my best, if not most focused work to date.

 

And then along came this one. It is one of those blank shots I had nothing to go on, and an open-ended, ambiguous pose that could be anything at all. My intent for this shot, as the model was holding a makeshift pice of chalk, was to maybe convey the mad scribblings of a mentally disturbed or institutionalized patient. But then I added the rocks, and sky. And then the sun.

If you follow along, I do have a fixation on the issue of dying/mortality, and I was finding it hard to convey without my oft-used metaphors of cracked or decayed skin and dust. But here I found another, albeit more ambiguous way to convey the concept.

 

I have titled this from one of my favorite songs; as a songwriter and lover of the written prose, I often reach for titles and ideas in the memory banks of lyrics filling my head. The song is called "Away From The Sky" by Rickie Lee Jones. It is, without question, one of the saddest, most mournful and beautiful songs I have ever heard. I found it at one of the saddest periods of my life as well, and the two are fused permanently in my mind. The funny part is, the lyric is highly ambiguous, and steeped in symbolism, so the idea that it is a sad song is not immediately apparent if you just read them. But the melody, the chords, the feeling, all spell sad departure, death, surrender to the night, loss of youth and innocence. I hope some of you seek it out.

 

In my image, the "fair" is represented by the fleeting balloons in the distance, all being let go away into the sky, which is at dusk. The brilliant sun is setting, and an aging man, seemingly tired and coming to an end, is alone and naked on the rocks. He holds a single lit match, and in its feeble light, we see two small red orbs or berries. The meaning, at least as I intended it, is to parallel the background and the foreground. Behind him, the brilliant sun, daylight, and a fair, a revelry he is removed from. His diminishing strength is trying to recreate the grandeur behind him; a match as poor cousin to the sun, fallen fruit as lesser versions of the rising balloons He is nearing his end, and his brilliant flame is down to a match, and the innocence and days are behind him. Someone's dusk becomes another's dawn, and the fair will go on long after he has expired.

 

For some reason, I felt this image belonged to this title. Here is the lyric from which it was derived:

 

For all that it cost him He never did complain
The chicken headed man Feathering the rain

But the last bus is tired And everybody's gone
The horses are waiting In the middle of the lawn

Gone for the rodeo Gone from the tundra, gal
It's after the fair that's where I hear you best

 

"Come into my trailer We'll toast a little bread
Oh look, you've left a hole Where you laid on my bed", he said

But you keep what you can keep When you dive into the deep
There's year after frozen year That's where I saved you there

Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky

 

But everybody's gone now It's after the fair
And the horses are painted With the waiting of the lawn
You turn the carousel on When the lights have closed down
And watch your ponies run Through the middle of town

So there ya go, little gal, there ya go
Gone from the tundra now It's after the fair That's where I

Over the fences again And the vacuums in the hall
And the planes up in the air That's where I hear you best

Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky Oh, away from the sky

 

Model: Felix

 

The red death sweeps the land, and the well-to-do hide in Prince Prospero's vastly tower, hiding from death. One night they decide to have a masquerade ball to distract themselves from the gloom. The tower has seven rooms of different colors, the last one is red with an ominous black clock that strikes the hours and as it grows closer to midnight, the guests become ever more fearful of the chiming clock.

 

Death appears, despite the security of the tower, as a shrouded figure, his disguise is a corpse, a victim of the Red Death, and when Prospero corners him and confronts him in the final Red room, he sees that there is no body to this figure. Death sweeps the tower and all the guests die.

 

Regarding my image, it was a random shot improvised between me and the model. I asked him to move about to get the fabric in motion, and this is what we captured. The shoot was the day before I saw the film, so the connection to the shrouded figure of Death came to me instantly as I edited this.

 

I bought four different birdhouses last week, and added seven of them into the shot and colored them the colors of the rooms in the story, hung them on branches, but alas, they just did not fit this image. I settled for seven red strands emanating from the figure. In the distance, there is the tower. Death has come to them, and he is moving onto his next victim. The crows and the crow feathers in the shot were a reference to one of Poe's most well-known work, "the Raven."

 

It was a fun image to make, and it's a good excuse to depict the specter of Death as something other than the Grim Reaper!

 

Model: Felix

 

Thanks for viewing and reading.

Once the technical was done, it was onto "what does this mean?" The timeless question. Well, of course there is the obvious reference of Pandora's Box, but that is not only too literal, it is missing a key ingredient - the aforementioned Pandora. See, the legend is, the first woman created, Pandora, was imbued with insatiable curiosity by the gods, and when given this vessel containing all the evils in the world, she could not help but open it and in so doing, released all the evil into the world. So you see where a woman is needed in this tale. But also, I think Pandora was given a bad rap for that - how many of us could have resisted?

 

The next thing that came to mind was the last act of Raiders of the Lost Ark and the Ark of the Covenant, which melted the face off the Nazis who opened it. Going down that road, I indeed added fire to the face of my poor model, and cracked skin and all manner of destruction. But this not only took focus off the box, it competed with the light of the box and really, why am I depicting a burning face?

 

The next thing I thought of was the marvelous invention of JK Rowling called the "Pensieve" from Harry Potter books, where a person can deposit and extract memories in the form of illuminated strands of viscous fluid into the container. A wonderful idea, and that, plus my model's pose of carefully opening the lid partway, made me think of a box to hide your secrets.

 

So, in the end, this seems to be what this symbolizes for me - a secret keeper, whether the title refers to the box or the man depositing the secrets into it. Perhaps he is hiding something away, or perhaps he has stolen thoughts from elsewhere and is secreting them away. I think it's best not knowing, in this case, and leave it open to interpretation.

 

Model: Felix

"The Awful Rowing Toward God" - This one, like the subject matter itself, was a test of patience and persistence. "The Awful Rowing Toward God" is a poem by Anne Sexton, and while I have tried to get my hands on a copy of it since I came across this beautiful title a few months ago, it proved a little hard to find. Again, like the subject matter itself. Perhaps it is best I never read the content or gleaned the angle or intent from her point of view - the title is rife with vast spaces for interpretation and significance all on its own, and I new what mine was going to be about, regardless of her original words.

 

If you follow along with my work and take the time to read these descriptions, you probably know or have guessed by now that I am an atheist. That has been my stance since my early 20s, and is highly unlikely to change, but I was not raised atheist or even agnostic. I was raised Catholic. Went to Catholic school. Was an altar boy. By the time I was entering college, free of the dogmatic schooling of high school and grade school, I had nothing to do with any of it - wanted no part of it, and didn't believe in the Bible as anything more than allegorical morality tales set against the wildly erratic "God" and his so-called words.

 

My need to believe is the same as anyone's though - we simply need meaning or purpose in our lives - and it is hard to plod through the days and years without it. In college, I was searching for something - a philosophy, a religion, a concept that rang true, that I could believe and use as my foundation. Nothing rang true. None of it has. And this is my point, and what I am trying to convey in this imagery. I was given a direction, a basis, and was schooled on it, and nothing called to me. I went searching for it, and nothing found me. I stood on the altar of the church, and all I saw were drones repeating tired words over and over again, devoid of passion, not even questioning the words they uttered. In other words, I was a receiver, and nothing was transmitting back!

 

I firmly believe that we were created with five senses for a reason, and as sensory beings, we rely on them to convey information. Faith, elusive and quaint, denies us our primordial logic and insists upon itself, unsubstantiated and baseless, that we "believe." I just don't. We evolved to require proof, and we demand it in our lives, our legal system, and to each other, so why is God and the afterlife getting a free pass?

 

Regarding the image, I wanted my rowers to be older men, weary, searching with tired eyes at the vastness around them, the often inhospitable, turbulent world they find themselves in, and finding nothing. Our central character looks of into this distance…at what? It cannot be answered, it is unseen, much like the God he is searching for. I added "hat lights" and "antennae" as suggestions of a search - looking for proof, waiting for a signal, and they will likely row towards nothingness the rest of their days!  The raw images for this piece were shot in a variety of ways - many with the model standing on the floor simulating rowing, like these three, and several with him kneeling on a stool rowing in a more aerodynamic pose I started working with those shots, and I decided the rowers would not be in boats, but rather rowing through the air, over a cemetery. I hated it. The rowers, once the stools were painted out, kneeling in thin air, looked like they were playing Quidditch! I started over with different shots, and some 60 layers later, it looked like this. I opted for stark black and white this time - something I never do, because I thought it spoke to the piece more than the sea foamy green I started with.

 

Model: Felix

 

Thank you for viewing and reading.

 

Please do not be offended if your beliefs contrast mine - I am merely stating my opinion, and I mean no disrespect to yours.

In college, I took a Jungian Psychology course, mainly out of curiosity, and it was led by a professor who was an avid believer of reincarnation and past lives. At the time, I was interested in that as well, maybe not a believer, but trying to be. One day, he led us on a group hypnosis aimed at accessing past life memories, or, at least, that's what I think the point of it was. A lot of time has passed since that day, and memories color and change over that much time, but the results and imagery from that session stays with me to this day, and at that time, it was pretty amazing and overwhelming.

 

Do I believe in reincarnation? Past lives? Do I believe what I saw in my hypnotic state were events I experienced in another time and place? No, I don't any longer, but the poignancy of the "memory" and the Jungian archetypes within speak with great potency to who I am - likely this is the relevance of it - not the need to believe in the past life, but rather, seeing within yourself from without, and getting to the core of your identity.

 

A lot of the imagery and symbolism I use in my photography were in this vision of a past life, and I have long been a fan of archetypal symbolism.

I think I will save more of these musings on symbolism for a blog entry, and leave you now with my memories of this vision i had as best as I can, and why this image is meaningful to me…

 

It started with a large oak tree, it was windy, I was in a field, and I came to know this was North America, several centuries ago, before this became the "New World" with the arrival of the Europeans. I remember embracing the tree, wrapping my arms around it, and slowly I started to merge with it, and the bark became part of me skin, and my arms became the branches, and I was a peace with it. My last human mobility was used to look up to the sun in the sky, There was a single eagle or falcon in the sky, and I followed it until the point of view was the bird's eyes, and I flew down to view a scene of a tribe of indians, and I recognized one of them as me, in another life. The men were congregating to discuss who will go on a trek across a great distance to deliver a message to another tribe, and this journey would take them across land of an enemy tribe. I volunteered to go alone, despite the protests of the others that it was dangerous to go alone, because I longed to be free of their company and have some peace and solitude.

 

I set out on the journey, and was pursued on foot across rocky, barren terrain, presumably by the enemy tribesman. Arrows and spears were hurled at me, and I was struck on the side, and tried to continue, bleeding and slowing, eventually making my way to a small waterfall, and climbed through it to the gap beneath it, waiting to die. My last memory was falling through the water, and down a high rocky cliff. As I struck the water below, now an ocean, I became a large sea turtle, and glided on the bottom of the deep ocean, and looking up, I saw sun beams dancing in the water. I followed them up to the surface, and as my eyes broke the surface of the water, I looked up to the top of the the high mountain peak from where I fell, and saw a version of my indian self with outstretched arms, silhouetted by the brilliant sun behind me.

 

Weird huh?

 

If you read this far, this image and its details and what's being depicted become pretty obvious, so I will comment briefly on what's in it that is not in my past life vision. The apples: First, I needed pop of color in this palette, and I felt, since we are watching someone whose life is slipping away in a barren terrain, the fallen fruit echoed the fading life of my subject. The birds: I thought the flock of crows in formation represented the enemy tribe and the lone bird on the right represented the solitary indian version of me, descending to the ground, about to fall.

 

Finally…some details about the photos used. The sky was shot last fall in Worcester, the bamboo sticks were shot last year for my Tarot Card series (the Wands), the rocky ground was shot yesterday in Oxford, MA, and the branches were shot this past winter in my backyard. The apples were shot a few months ago for another image "the Principle of Diminishing Returns" and finally, the model, Gilberto Mendez, was shot in January, improvising movements as I snapped away. I felt this pose made him seem injured, and that sparked this memory and finally, this finished image.

 

Thanks for reading and viewing!

 

Michael Bilotta
April 14, 2013

Another aspect that proved time consuming was the environment I was putting her in. Usually, I do spend time on environments, but since the focus of my work is portraiture, the backgrounds are usually just that - supporting backgrounds that flesh out or elaborate on a central idea. But this time, the mood was equal parts subject and environment, so they both needed some attention.

 

In my little corner of the world, we are finally coming out of a seemingly endless winter, six months, half the year, in a frozen state of dormancy and no greenery. I find winter hostile and severe, and coming out of such a long spell, it is hard to see any kind of light at the end of the exceedingly long night of this season.

 

In psychiatric circles, spring, not winter, has the highest suicide rates, likely due to the fact that your body cannot adjust out of the darkness of winter, even as all around you, life is renewed.

 

My character is walking forlorn through a barren, lifeless wasteland - harsh lines and bare trees, cold wind and gusts of snow. Offsetting that is her brilliant crimson long coat, and a small but brilliant light emanating from within, perhaps a sign of life still beating in the most inhospitable landscapes or moods. This also spoke to the power of creativity, surviving all manner of opposition - be it apathy, lack of support or interest, or real life, with all its muted, dull rigors.

 

Model: Rayne O'Reilly.

I added the ground layer, and it reminded me of a pier, or a boardwalk. I added a railing, didn't like it, removed it. I added streetlights on posts - I liked them, but what were they? What was this location? Once I added a sky, a floor, the lights, I got it in my head to use Zeppelins, which have been on my mind visually largely due to the television show "Fringe" and I appreciated how they used the airships to demonstrate to the audience the story had shifted to a parallel universe, where these bygone crafts were still in use, massive and iconic in the sky.

 

How does one today obtain stock images of a zeppelin? A nondescript one? In the straight-on angle I desired for the shot? In my head, I saw a fleet of these floating fortresses gallantly sailing past my enigmatic observer. So - that's it then - I will look into getting this element.

 

But how?

 

I decided to look at model kits - something I used to build when I was young, and not for decades now. I found two that would do the trick, each costing over $100. That much money and I would have to build and paint it myself! For one shot? If I was going to do a whole series of images with the zeppelins, then perhaps I could justify it, but honestly, I don't see more than one or two.

Yesterday I went to a hobby store and bought a small one - less than eight inches long. I didn't want to spend the day gluing and painting and waiting, but then, there was no other way to get what I wanted! I even considered getting stock images online and pilfering - but despite that, no images or high enough quality or size matched the angle I wanted.

 

So I built it, and painted it, and lit it with the same lights I used for the model, and blended them in as best I could to the scene. It made a difference - the lighting gave this crappy little thing a boost of depth and realism, and I got the straight on angle I needed, and masking the background out was a breeze.

 

And most importantly, I got what I set out for! I did not give up and try something else, and it was, for better or worse, what I saw in my head.

 

After two weeks of stewing and waiting, I knew this was going to be a commentary on war, the futility, the loss of innocence, all that, from the point of view of the soldier. Was he an objector, a defector? I decided no, too obvious, and painted his skin with a camouflage texture. It was a poem from my favorite poet, Yeats, that supplied the back story and title:

 

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My county is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

 

Model: Mike Ryan

 

Thanks for viewing and reading!

A few themes have been popping up lately, some recurring ideas or visual elements insist on being present lately. I used to fret about utilizing anything not ultra-fresh, but there is a value in exploring a concept with repetition - for the musician, playing the same music over and over again brings out subtle nuances and refinements, for the actor, playing a role repeatedly does much the same. I am no different: I did not set out to do a conceptual series based on strings or cables, but it has nevertheless presented itself and I am apparently not done exploring it. The same goes for blindness - another fascination of mine, but not sure where that one is coming from.

 

What do the strings mean in this shot, or the others they have appeared in? There is something very primal and poetic about a human subject bound or manipulated by wires or strings, the puppeteering reference is there, but also it conveys being manipulated in some way, of not having control. I thought in this case, rather than depict a suicide attempt with the inner wrist exposed and opened with blood in evidence, the strings and their crimson color could suggest blood, and opening a vein, without being so ham-handed. It also leaves room for other interpretations - the trajectory of the stings towards the viewer and off camera could suggest this person is being pulled towards some unseen harm. For me personally, I am interested in why I am drawn to including the recurring themes I have ventured into thus far. The self-exploration is the meaningful part for me.

 

Partway through this edit, a title lodged in my brain and wouldn't leave: "Opening a Vein." It is obviously a suicide reference, but also an expression related to writing, and also a reference to mining. For a title, this is pretty blunt, and not exactly poetic. Searching for an alternative title led me to a song I wrote in the mid 90s, about depression, about suicide.

 

I don't know for sure if everyone has a level of depression or has contemplated suicide in the past - to gather data on that, the collective US would have to be brutally honest in answering it, but I suspect that most of us have at least a trace of depression, and have at time contemplated ending personally a difficult time in a very final manner. It's not a topic to address lightly - depression is real, and yet surreal at the same time, because it is internal and indelible, and hard to define. In my twenties, which in hindsight was a "golden era" but at the time a really dark period  filled with angst, I channeled a lot of my pain into songs and lyrics. It was a difficult time, and I am glad they are behind me, but I did get mementos from that time, in songs and words, and my title for this piece comes from one that was certainly overwrought, but honest and brutal just the same. It was a suicide song, not that I ever drew my own blood - it never went that far, but the thoughts were there. I don't remember the specific circumstances of the lyrics, but I know it was written on a Monday.

 

I will post them here if you're interested. Thanks for viewing and reading.

 

Wrung from the night, this Monday bleeding
Always this fear has held me tight
Of coming apart, of hopes retreating
Don't care if I live or die

 

But still I'm alive, some say I'm alive
I forget some days that I'm alive
Some say I'm alive but all I know
Is I don't want this gray Monday bleeding…

 

You cut with your words and scarred September
Remembered in all I've seen and heard
But the brag of my heart keeps repeating
Two words I know won't survive

 

They say "I'm alive…"
Some say I'm alive
I forget some days that I'm alive
Some say I'm alive but all I know
Is I don't want this gray Monday bleeding…

 

I've done it again, this damned repeating
In circles of blood this addiction will end
Cause who could contain this self-defeating?
Am I just alive to be alone?

 

Who knows if I'm alive? Who cares if I'm alive?
You could forget some days that I'm alive
Some say I'm alive but all I know
Is I don't want this…
Monday bleeding, Monday bleeding…
Monday bleeding…

 

Model: Gilberto Mendez

With that in mind,  I decided to build that environment into an image that started with no idea or point of view, and let the shapes, the lines, the shadows take shape without logic coming into the decisions. This is not a new method for me, but usually, as I improvise with something, an idea or point of view emerges and that idea then takes over the edit to completion. This time, I decided to create without any point of view, and take it to completion and then decide what it was saying to me.

 

The first word that came to mind was "addiction." This could easily be a piece about the ravages of prolonged drug addiction to a body, to a life. Yes, that would work. But the wires and staffs, interwoven into the body, implied internal circuitry and wiring - the inner workings of a mind, and the bright light either being inserted into the mind or pulled from it, suggested a live connection, electric and vital.

 

In the end, I decided this is about rewiring a failed connection - about trying to reconfigure a faulty circuit deep within. Self-repair, self-analysis. The messy, chaotic mind we long to render orderly and logical. It may be futile, it may be irreversible, but perhaps the awareness and the effort is what matters.

 

My title, again, for the second time, was derived from an old Star Trek episode title. A note about that, and about titles in general: I try to find good ones, occasionally come up with my own good ones, because I think a good title is so important - it is an attractive entrance to a house, it invites you in, it makes you want to see more. The allure of a strong title has always been a weakness for me - I have purchased books solely because of the allure and promise of a title. This one always resonated with me - poetic and yet direct. In the 90s, I slipped this title into the lyrics of a song I wrote, and now, all these years later, I find it a fitting title to this piece.

 

Model: Rayne O'Reilly

Will it occur again? I don't know. But this event will ride in my psychic passenger seat for quite awhile, and perhaps never fully leave again. Such are the roots of this malignancy in our species, this constant threat that we all have in the back of our minds.

I stayed up most of the night, and decided today to toy with some imagery, and this came of it. It is pretty much in line with my concerns on home crime.

 

For the title, I found this quote from Horace Mann…

 

When a man, before innocent, commits crime, he passes, by a sudden transition, into a new world. The significance of all objects around him is changed; the laws of association in his own mind are changed; a viper is born in his breast which stings and goads him. Sounds that he never heard before ring in his ears; a violated conscience turns avenger and scourger;--the foe is within him. Were it merely an external enemy, assaulting the criminal from without, perhaps he might be fled from, resisted, bribed, or would at last remit his inflictions through very weariness of tormenting. But not so with the consciousness of wrong.... It will not sleep, nor tire, nor relent.

 

Model: Ed Barron