Walking through the field, I stare at my feet, watch the endless quilt of leaves, grass, green, brown, light, rocks, burgundy, violet, scarlet, shadows, dirt, toads reel past until the photographer stops, a sudden balance expresses itself, comes into focus, only apparent if exposed. The film will convince the viewer this really exists; it already exists like this in my mind.
I walk to this place to find the picture exists, motionless, waiting for my photograph.
My film is proof that free will and fate are a record of discovery;
in this frame I make event/meaning out of things unexamined.
My camera maintains its silent illusion; my new landscape is this solid moment.
Light records time. My eye captures what the mirror defines/finds this instant.
Peterborough Poets 