you are my crag


Florist, on repeat.

These words, and all of Citizen: An American Lyric, by Claudia Rankine.

Everything about this house, especially the bedroom.

A. gave me this beautiful book by John Berger for Christmas, which I am thrilled about.

The weekend consisted of this, breakfast club, bread-baking, the farmer's market, and much time spent outside. All good things.

Also, these words, from Minor White:

"If [the photographer] were to walk a block in a state of sensitized sympathy to everything to be seen, he would be exhausted before the block was up and out of film long before that. Perhaps the blank state of mind can be likened to a pot of water almost at the boiling point. A little more heat—an image seen—and the surface breaks into turbulence. Possibly the creative work of the photographer consists in part of putting himself into this state of mind. Reaching it, at any rate, is not automatic. It can be aided by always using one’s camera for serious work so that the association of the camera in one’s hands always leads to taking pictures."


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