Chad, with whom I have rather a lot in common, took this after finding a fallen street lamp and putting a wireless strobe inside of it.
I happen to love this image in itself, but also as several potential texts; indeed, one of the things I like most about visual art is that it permits a free and fluid series of readings to congregate in and emerge from works like this. Usually, these occur as sentence fragments or short narratives: this dying light still charged by the high-voltage grid, illuminating little as its peers in their plumage of color look on; or: the pure white light of death; or: dying just beyond the source of all things, the door to which reads “KEEP OUT.”
I am clumsily literal-minded, I know; it is why I struggle with poetry. But for me, images which permit the casual and associative narrativizing of their content are something more than beautiful. And that this was a chance encounter coupled with a deliberate artistic step makes it even more delightful to me; I love the photographic combination of happenstance and intentionality.
