Saturday

“All my life I've looked at words as though I were seeing them for the first time.”

I came across this quote by Hemingway yesterday and it made me think about language, not just blindly using it, but really looking at words and how they're used to construct meaning. I realised how my obsession with photography means that I spend so much time representing my world visually, that I don't spend time playing with words in the way that I used to. For example: on this blog, my posts have become dominated by images rather than text.

Anyhoo, yesterday I thought I would capture random bits and pieces from my day via words rather than photos. I described lots of things I wanted to photograph, but there were sensations as well, like wet skin from the rain, the warmth of the floorboards, the music I listened to as well as the subjects of the conversations I had with people. While I have these random words grouped together in the above picture in a way that doesn't provide much context, it definitely constructs an image of the day for me.

But the night, the night is always something different; whether using words or photos you can never capture the essence of it. What is it about the night that always defies description, that makes it so vast you can't ever really get a grasp on it? Last night was a fairly regular Saturday evening. My friend Tess and I went out, had dinner, cuddled a puppy in a bookshop, listened to a band, had some drinks and talked to people. Yet it had a character to it, like all nights do. I love Kerouac's descriptions of night-time and the sense of possibility and expansiveness you get. I'm rambling and have gone entirely off the point. Basically, I'm going to resolve to try to look at words as though I'm seeing them for the first time.

random photo from Sat night

Mood: frolicking dresses and seeing Laura Marling tonight