Monday, March 12, 2012


I shall be without Whit for a few
days and this page, without me. I
leave a light in the window for 
Tuesday in a posting queue - 
but with reluctance. I would rath-
er avoid commanding attention in 
absentia. Still, everyone has a
thing he wouldn't have wanted not
to have said, in case he were to
keep walking, instead.

With this entry, 'though, an ar-
gument. We must not relegate re-
gard for this face to its gender;
and yet we do. I have an unthink-
ably beautiful new doctor, whose
voice and face and manner give me
acceptance as much as confidence,
in what she says. The condescen-
sion in ladies to this quality of
theirs is insufferable, the dis-
placement of the subject taking
the turn, chronically, of meas-
ured praises for conduct rather
than for being. And too bad, for
the being of this face is a pre-
cipitation of bliss beyond any
divide of desire or edict of
taste. It isn't relevant, how 
well she wears it; that specu-
lation insults the suspension, 
not of disbelief, but of be-
lief configured in the blind-
ness of infancy. Possibly, I
remark only on a quality in

With this argument, 'though, a
commendation. In this past week
my reading has given me two as-
sociations of photography and
poetry which touch, in an exem-
plary way, on our natural re-
sponse to naturalism in either 
form. Readers of this page will
be glad to notice these blog en-
tries, resisting comparing one
with the other, where the photo
takes precedence in one and the
poem in the other. Possibly, in
either, I remark only on a qual-
ity in age.

No, we don't, do we, dine in

Photograph Peter Lindbergh

Photograph Nestor Almendros


  1. Of course you have to, there is so little substance :) Very kind, but there are characters here -- Hercule + Auguste, Gérard, Thornhill and certainly Betty Commilfaux, herself -- who would gladly jump ship to feast on your picnic pears and lie beneath your rooftops and sip your Cabernet Franc, always assuming you were at home, of course.

  2. We hope all is well? We would miss your thoughts and ideas,
    etc. The art of love is God at work through you. Always

  3. This is exactly what I've been imploring Mlle Deneuve to understand for decades. :)

    Your comment is very kind and I do not wish to diminish it; I hope I never did indicate, I'd deserve it. :)