Thursday, April 14, 2005
That horrible summer of 2003, late August, I was in Pennsylvania and so depressed that I was having anxiety attacks even in the bucolic countryside. In the early early morning, when I could not sleep, I would take photographs of the fog-shrowded meadows and fields. As the sun climbed, burning off the fog, and the day progressed, I would long to be transported away, somewhere where I could feel happy and safe. One morning, unable to take my feelings anymore, I packed my stuff, got Mabel, and drove away, leaving my friends bewildered. I drove in a panic, back to New York, too fast. Luckily I did not get a speeding ticket. But the tailpipe on my car was broken, and the noise of the unmuffled exhaust pounded into my skull.
But at least I have this beautiful photograph to show for it.