I’ve been trying to make my way through Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space since returning home from St. Louis.

I keep it with me in my grandfather’s tote, to be closer to my father, the architect.

In recognizing the heft of this material,

My intention has been to, in one session, start at the foreword, continuing on through the introduction and after having collected their context, begin to read the actual book.

I haven’t quite made it though,

It’s not a casual read.

…I’ll make time for it.

Though in those scant few pages I’ve read, I’ve found myself struck by Kearney’s examination of the new image

and while bearing in mind that my review finds itself squarely on the shoreline in consideration of the ocean of his thesis,

I present this conjecture:

This poetic image:

This manifestation of an idea, or in this instance, the result of any sort of creative offering, which upon its presentation, ellicits such commune with its recipients,

is not at all sudden.

This poetic image,

I know now,

is governed by soft-footed hymn,

which,

even at distance, can be heard.

And really, that’s all I’ve ever sought.

My creative intention has always been at the end of the day, commune.

Which I suppose is why I could only ever choose a medium that achieves it.

If I am to document, I want to do so in a way wherein I engage that which speaks beyond the intent itself.

Film, to me, is this commune manifest. The invocation of imperceptibilities:

Intuit rushes forth, gives birth upon the silver, and then begin the contortions; with light, with temperature, with less-corporeal entity.

there aren’t many practices in which I feel this truly takes place.

In which I am so given to celestial body

in my eleven years of shooting film,

it was not until Sunday, March 23rd, in Litchfield Park,

that I fully experienced the harmony of these contortions:

that of my intuit,

that of the expanse under which it is governed,

that of the light, of the heat, of the stillness of all living things

beginning to un-knot

and together match frequency,

giving way to hymn

To return to Kearney’s New Image:

I object that its foregleams can in fact, be predicted.

That the genesis of genuine creative output can be measured and is tangible.

What is needed, is incubation.

To compose and create this expression, there must be commune

To find this commune, one must be directed earthward.

To direct earthward, one must examine closely the soil, the branch, and the pinion:

their quiet and their stillness,

and act.

To do so is to seek divinity.

On Sunday, March 23rd,

Marc, Jonathan, and I shared effort,

and in this stillness.

Though varied in medium, collective was the intent:

presentation of self, to one degree or another—

as done previously, but on a new scale,

and in unison.

it was special, and provides the basis for my thesis:

For myself,

the resulting image

was only possible by this commune,

by the together-hymn:

with the earth.

but more expressly, with us three.

We three who for many years have shared in effort

in output, and in reverberation,

in daydream, and in lilac horizon,

in holding aloft our precious ideas and musings, to admire and to laud.

Now we three,

Sat at the edge of era,

together, listen to the collective hum

laughing, heartily

I started to doubt I’d ever be able to do it:

to hear the hymn.

It really means a lot to me

and even if I never hear it again,

I am eternally indebted to you for being the ones to help me to in the first place.

and if the Poetics of Space is, in the end, a consideration of proximity.

Well, thanks for being close