↬ Twenty-two – 07: No… More… Words…
Hi, I’m Rudiger Meyer and this is my monthly newsletter covering what I’ve been up to and what’s been catching my attention.
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Ok, a few words after all. The opening photographs were taken on Bornholm, along what turned out to be a poet’s route. (Digterruten for Martin Andersen Nexø på Bornholm.) The colours and scene got me thinking of certain Caspar David Friedrich paintings. There was something somewhat untouched about this corner of the island – a feeling of stepping back in time before the age of automobiles. How is it that certain scenes experienced in life so strongly bring up memories of particular paintings/photographs? Experiencing the present in the light of the depictions of others. A kind of layered/augmented reality. (It’s not something I can think of having experienced with sound though.)
Late-morning mist over the same area a few days later got me thinking of a book of Tarkovsky polaroids – beautifully layed out with poems on some of the facing pages.
I had a strange dream last night:
I was looking up at the sky,
and it was very, very light, and soft;
and high, high above me
it seemed to be slowly boiling, like light that had materialized,
like the ﬁbres of a sunlit fabric,
like silken, living stitches
in a piece of Japanese embroidery.
And those tiny ﬁbres, light-bearing, living threads,
seemed to be moving and ﬂoating
and becoming like birds, hovering, so high up
that they could never be reached.
So high that if the birds were to lose feathers
the feathers wouldn’t fall,
they wouldn’t come down to the earth,
they would ﬂy upwards, be carried off and vanish
from our world forever.
And soft, enchanted music
was ﬂowing down from that great height.
The music seemed to sound
like the chiming of little bells;
or else the birds’ chirping was like music.
‘They’re storks’, I suddenly heard someone say,
and I woke up.
Instant Light: Tarkovsky Polaroids
I came across the book of photographs by Fred Herzog (a photographer I hadn’t heard of before) in a holiday café. A German who escaped to Vancouver after the war and built up an oeuvre photographing everyday street scenes with film intended for slides – which lent a certain intensity to the colour palette of his works.
Yello: No More Words
All the best