Bob Black

Photographs are but a trace, a small breath of not only all that we have seen and heard and felt but of all that shuttled and shifted before and around us. And yet, what else are we, if not but a trace. And do not the traces, around us, apart of us, inside us, we ourselves, constitute the base and rafters of our lives? Are traces less substantial merely because they are residual, do they not reside long after us?

Our need, our very real and necessary need to accomplish and mark and materialize our place here within the extraordinary short span of breath is a way (do we know another?) to stave off the fear and the suffering that we know we shall depart and fall away and it is a way for us to convince ourselves that we are bigger and more meaningful than others, more meaningful than that and those which came before us and which shall supplant us. And yet, even in our vanishing, we remain: do we not? Maybe in fact, though we are finished in our death, we beautifully and oddly continue, live on. Not within our work (that is a human illusion) but within our having been here to being with: we pass ourselves into the skin and lives of our children, we pass ourselves into the earth and air because we were once of this place, and though everything about us will be forgotten and vanquished, our names and our importance and our books and our work and our money and our bones and our foundations, but because were were here so too all that comes after us.

this is a photograph of a child wearing a mask on Halloween and I am in the mirror in the background....in truth, photographs are mirrors of ourselves, though we often deny this.....

vanishing...