For Old Time's Sake

Once the old imagination starts to spin & I have made all required adjustments to environment in order to offer the freedom of lending this mysterious mechanism all attention necessary to instruct the visions yearned for capture into letters—why then & so often only then—the dissociation is sublime.

Under this rarefied influence, I forget embarrassing gratitude; wonder has silently taken the place of awe.

Where do we go when the mind opens potent avenues of creation? How is it that an organ inside the skull bewitches & transmogrifies the everyday into a vision creatively compelling?

Swimming amoungst conjured images, manufactured through privilege & fascination, the world I have struggled to comprehend crystallizes. It is here that the depth of feeling I read about becomes manifest; it is here where the potential I have reached for reveals the particulars of passage.

Through the act of creative writing, I begin to understand process.

The surface of imagination is invisible yet I envision an elastic thin skim—a seal across time & experience. Sometimes behind a poised intent or on other occasions lazily & for recreation, I break below that porous seal & all sense shoots full of wonder. Experience evolves; history waits to be embellished.

Over & over the mind dips into mysterious waters; time & again the same mind floods with scenes which I am only permitted to witness.

{Photography by Cecil Beaton}