Reason is the natural organ of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning.

Here is something of an experimental photograph today. I saw this beat up old car pull up at the lights this morning, bumper held together by packing tape, and whipped out the camera, got down low for an interesting angle, and took one snap, then it was gone.

As a model of the flawless photograph, I concede that it is somewhat lacking, but I like it’s potential as a ‘beginning’, ‘middle’ or indeed ‘end’ of a far more thrilling story.

So, the thing I like about this image is how it seems to me an invitation to the viewer to 'fill in the gaps' of its deficits rather than an attempt to tell a complete story.

So I look at in think: ‘how did we get to this point?’

Is that too wanky?

If so, I’m blaming a severe lack of sleep, the lethargy that follows days of being angry about things beyond your immediate control, and far too much thinking about the work of David Lynch than is conducive to good mental health.