I really don’t care anymore if anyone sees; if anyone hears; if anyone is prejudiced or has preconceived notions. What exists is simply this pen and this paper making passionate love and being voyeuristically encouraged by me and my mind. Psychic prurience!
We are poolside at the best hotel in the world. Peak life. Yes, it’s the sun itself and the birdsong that create the genuine happiness; not necessarily the outer location. This I’ve known for a long time. Memento Mori. We can’t take any of this with us when we go, but we can certainly leave traces of spaces and places behind for others to take part of. In that lies individual choice; the important esthetic imbued in the curation of life.
Hence one huge incentive for making art. Perhaps the only really valid one: to give life meaning while at it, and hope that it will retain some meaning for future partakers of the past.
The water sure looks wonderful and cooling. ”I think I’ll go for a swim, OK?”
(A very relaxed photo-impression by Vanessa)
