eros, logos: Light

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Light

I am still unable to post; an update will be on my friend's blog soon. For now, this is something old, reposted by request of a good friend and fellow (art) geek.
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35, perhaps 36 extant paintings. It's the rendition of light in them that strikes you first, and then the suspension of a moment in time. That light: has anyone ever painted it as well?

An absence can reveal as much or more than a presence, and sometimes it is in the spaces between us that the most important things take place. Between the desire and the act falls the shadow, writes Eliot, and there is that space that exists between us all no matter how close we are. We overcome or try to break through this space; fucking is not always and only an end in itself but sometimes also an attempt to meld ourselves into one. To transcend our distance, to reach across that divide...to reach across death. I have no children but there have been acts of love where something was created between us, and it seems right to me that children, our hostages to fortune and our gift to the future would be the result of this act.

Haven't we all fucked like that? At its best that is also what it is; not union but the acknowledgement of space, of separation, the desperate attempt to become one.

All Vermeer's interiors have the same details, here and here we see the rug, here and here we see the globe. Despite these open doors and windows, despite this light, the effect becomes claustrophobic--I want to leave these rooms. I want to stop walking the streets where we were together, I want to stop being in these places where for me you are always present, and more present to me in your absence now than when we were merely separated.

(I could write here, I should write here, of a museum, of not being able to wait. Of the way we found a way, and I knelt, and unzipped you. You wanted to be on the floor with me, but I would not let you even though we had no time. I make you stand and your legs shake when I unzip you and then take your cock into my hand...when I finally uncover you, roll back your foreskin and then at last place my lips and not just my breath and tongue on your naked cock you bite your hand, I think you will fall. You will, but not yet, I need to taste you, don't you know how I crave that? And then you on top of me, and you fuck me desperately hard and fast on the floor--over your shoulder I see Chinese textiles before I shut my eyes shudderingly, coming as hard and as quickly as quietly as you)

Here is a girl leaning on her hand, she is perhaps asleep. What does she dream, who does she dream of?

Here is a woman reading a letter. Who is it from?

Who was in this doorway? We who see it now are affected by an absence. The door opens and we glimpse another room. What life happens there, and with whom is it lived?

Who is in the doorway? No one, you say. But the open door registers on your awareness. It is part of the painting, and even if you do not focus on it it is part of what you see.

Who is in the doorway?--No one, we say.
But there is, under those layers-- we don't see it because it is painted over. Under those layers, stripped away, the experts tell us, there is a man. A man stands in the doorway--is he coming in, or going out?--why has he been painted over?
The painting on the wall is a clue perhaps: Cupid, with a mask discarded.

This absent presence changes things. Does this woman sleep, or is her head bent for other reasons? Does she despair?
Has she sent her lover away, or is he leaving her?
This moment is suspended, held and caught and frozen like a photograph, like a breath.

When you hold your breath, what do you wish for?

If I could speak truly to you when you call me, I would say,
I cannot bear to be here when you are not. I see you everywhere.

posted by O @ 23:42


10 Comments:
At 11 December, 2006, Anonymous said… ummm, wow, i love your blog! very intimate, and heartbreaking honesty and authenticity. At 11 December, 2006, Anonymous said… ummm, wow, i love your blog! very intimate, and heartbreaking honesty and authenticity. At 11 December, 2006, O said… hi sassy, thank you! what a lovely thing to say. I appreciate it. This is from last year, about a relationship that ended then. I loved him very much. I had started out only wanting to write about Vermeer, but that made me think of one of my favourite museums...and inevitably, something he and I did there. best, O At 11 December, 2006, T - Another Geek Girl said… Home again Home again Jiggety-jig... Just thought I'd add a little of my own favorite poetry to your blog O. Sorry, I can't quote anything deeper than nursery rhymes, but what can I say? My mind is weak. I just wanted to come here and thank everyone who was kind enough to send their healing vibes our way and to those wonderful people who took the time to click the link and leave a comment I want to send a special thank you. I can't begin to express how wonderful I felt as O read your comments and emails to me over the phone. We just got home from the hospital and I had the singular joy of tucking my baby into his own bed. I owe you all a debt of gratitude. I understand that even the atheists were praying for us;) Well it worked! Your positive energy surrounded us and insulated us through this difficult time. Tonight I am going to just lay down and listen to his breathing, then, in the next day or two, I will be by to comment on you all and answer the emails. Thank you O, for things too numerous to count. Not the least of which is your devotion and undying loyalty to your friends. I adOre you! At 11 December, 2006, T - Another Geek Girl said… Home again Home again Jiggety-jig... Just thought I'd add a little of my own favorite poetry to your blog O. Sorry, I can't quote anything deeper than nursery rhymes, but what can I say? My mind is weak. I just wanted to come here and thank everyone who was kind enough to send their healing vibes our way and to those wonderful people who took the time to click the link and leave a comment I want to send a special thank you. I can't begin to express how wonderful I felt as O read your comments and emails to me over the phone. We just got home from the hospital and I had the singular joy of tucking my baby into his own bed. I owe you all a debt of gratitude. I understand that even the atheists were praying for us;) Well it worked! Your positive energy surrounded us and insulated us through this difficult time. Tonight I am going to just lay down and listen to his breathing, then, in the next day or two, I will be by to comment on you all and answer the emails. Thank you O, for things too numerous to count. Not the least of which is your devotion and undying loyalty to your friends. I adOre you! At 11 December, 2006, Anonymous said… Wow this is an absolutely breathtaking entry. I feel exactly what you write. Such a lovely site you have here. I shall be back. At 11 December, 2006, Anonymous said… Wow this is an absolutely breathtaking entry. I feel exactly what you write. Such a lovely site you have here. I shall be back. At 11 December, 2006, Darklord said… Wow... breathlessly & beautifully captured (as always) as well as deeply erotically enchanting. i felt opened with your metaphoric connection.. the perspective and intimacy you wrote. Such depth, such passion, such intriguing expression... and even though you say it's not new, it's new to me and i loved it! A lot. At 11 December, 2006, Anonymous said… So glad that T's son is doing better. The dreaming woman has finally gotten her baby to sleep in the next room, but she's still at the stage of things where she listens to his every breath. She will not allow herself to lie down to sleep, because she knows he'll be up in ten minutes. My momminess is showing through, huh? At 13 December, 2006, Anonymous said… o, Once again you have captured the beauty, the mystery and the torture of what we put ourselves through for the love of another...who is the man painted over? that person we want to see what is happening in the room where they look or the do we want to believe we can hide from others the truth of who we are by the whitewash of the painting..even though this is from long ago - does it have application to the now? I missed this one from a year ago...but as always your words touch me. alphagirl
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