Scanning, Scanning

Scanning, scanning late into the night, into the early morning. I can’t speed up the machine. Slow, slow, listening to music, long, long, scanning with hope, false hope. The scanning does not transform it. “Why are you using film,”I am asked. Romantic, I guess. Feels good until now. Scanning, scanning.

I went to NYC leaving trouble behind, thinking to make photos to compliment the ones from ’75. But then, I took photographs all the time. I had been doing nothing but taking photograhs for three solid months. Now, I don’t take a photograph for months.

We do best what we do most.

I am still scanning, scanning, scanning. Futile.