Saturday, April 7, 2012

Saturday commute lxi: forest murmurs

An accidental keystroke in-
advertently will have given
followers of the page a sig-
nal of a finished posting.
In fact I'm not content with
the draft, which was being
composed while pre-occupied
by a little inconvenience in
a foot; but I'm sure enough
of the imagery to present it
to the play of visitors to
the page. 

The backstairs navigator in
the asylum, which many may
take for a school, seems to
be straight out of Merchant
and Ivory's view of Forster,
with which I frankly wouldn't
quibble. And I'm also not im-
mune to the Forsterian prolet-
arian in his forest bower, or
the brisk stride of missing, 
at best, the forest in its

All of these are drawn from a
life that could be, and in the
the aggregate could be from any
of ours, whether or not from a
single paragraph. I cannot be-
lieve that readers of this page
come here to see the dots con-
nected, so much as to play in
the interstices between them.

I'll let the accidental key-
stroke leave the field open.
I do have a parti pris to
confide; I like the sight
of someone's seeing this.

Gerhard Richter, Tate, 1992

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