With a printer…

My images will be new children.

No longer virtual, I’ll be able to pick them up and hold them.

I’ll gather them together, arrange them in a row, consider the different rhythms they convey.

I’ll annotate them in my own handwriting, perhaps in silver or grey upon black. I’ll find an old typewriter and type the titles, dates, brief stories or found ephemera.

Their borders may be blurred, scribbled, uneven.

I will gird them with new frames, found frames, my own handmade frames.

I might hide an unruly heap of them in a box, then open it in a year to discover them afresh.

I can make diptychs, triptychs, booklets, pamphlets.

I’ll learn about different papers and how to bind them together.

I can rub spices and herbs into them – they will smell!

I’ll try leaving them out in the rain, see them curl and rot.

I will fill a wall with my photographs.

When I move the wall will be pitted with little holes.

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