I am still finding curious synchronicities between poems I have written and photographs I have made on quite distinct and separate occasions. The now obvious correspondences are frequently highlighted by other people or by ideas triggered whilst reading or looking at art work. These correspondences were not guessed at nor explicitly constructed at the time of making and feel very much like a strange and unwitting extension of the lack of control seen in pinhole photography where unexpected elements often pop up quite independently of the photographer’s input; elements which nevertheless weave a thread through the work and add a satisfying unity.
Here are two items, a photograph of an old still in West Wales which has always pleased me with its subtle play of light and dark and the shapes it contains, and a poem written at a time some years ago when I would spend periods of time in meditation in a dusty shed. Only now after many months have the similarities and the spirit of both occasions leaped out at me and the particular resonance of the gentle presence of people, and their absence.