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A recycled bathroom tile and some marbles. Crickets, and the silence that lives deeply in all of us. Our little piece of existence chipped out of, but always present, in eternity. With some sacrete and found objects, here lies a real monument to something beyond names. |
Looking back over the photographs I’ve taken, death seems to emerge as a theme. I’m sure I’m not the only one who might think that it is puzzling. Considering walking, living, breathing, seeing; what’s up when it stops? You can answer, nothing, it all stops, etc. Yet it’s the light from this unknown, is it not, that illuminates the living, breathing, world ? I guess, if it's unspeakable, it’s time to shut up.
It’s the trappings and the rituals of passing over that have been of interest. “Is God Love? God is Love” is the most important of these photos to me. I spent a lot of time in that grave yard, with the chant of the crickets by day, and the grunts of the frogs by night. Most of the grave markers with no name, since, given time, it’s the spirit of life, not particulars, that could interest the living. There’s something wrapped around all this sound and fury. It is a silence .
Recently I came across some family/church grave sites on the Sound side of Hatteras Island. They were stretched through the live oaks. And from my visit last year, a family grave surrounded by a shrine of sorts and another site located not far from the Sound, which may have flooded it.
Charlottesville has one of the most interesting art deco buildings, designed to resemble a grave stone. It's the W. Hartman Memorial Building.
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