I wonder about this woman. about this child. the pensive sculpture that mirrors the pose of the glowing young woman. and the incoherent scribblings on the wall. the crude illustrations of a reality that once existed. a reality that was once inhabited and rendered pictorially. the woman and the child in the photograph no longer exist. yet here they are. in our field of vision. creating such an illusion of expansiveness and depth that their reality seems, for a fleeting moment, attainable. death has captured the two, mercilessly. yet, here they are, anonymous phantoms that continue to crawl through the recesses of restless minds.
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