4040. AT THE SILBERSTEIN COLLECTION

AT THE SILBERSTEIN

COLLECTION

We wash the pastry down with wine.

As people speak of spaces and volume, my

scant eyes are alerted by the wall's sheer

movement. Photographs from another place:

caftans, beggars, tea and elephants. These

pictures seem merely to say 'I have been

somewhere you haven't.' A camera makes

all the difference, no?

-

I wouldn't know what to do with money.

The thought of so many choices would soon

become painful. A hard poverty is more my way -

less to travel, more to see at home. Camera or

not, I move about seeking only a solace

from the wind or the sky.

-

Outside, staring up at evening, I watch the

change from sun to moon take place in the

deep December sky. The delicate arc of lunar

light attempts to meander but cannot. As the

sinking sun submits, I see vast shadows

take over the building walls.

-

This is a city light.

Amidst glass-walled buildings it

moves and changes with the seasons.

Inside, now, a collection of photographs is

pale by comparison. Silver-oxide chemistry

has very little heart. Although each image

is sharp and precise, the soul of a deeper

place is missing.

-

All the world has streets where people

are wanting. Even here, beggars line up

to wash. I need not travel for that to be mine.

I wouldn't know what to do.