E.D. A Portrait of an Old Woman, acrylic on canvas, 2012, 48X48
A man in me asks, is an image a thought?
A woman in me asks, is an image a thought?
A man in me continues, at least in the way I understand a
thought.
A woman in me continues, at least in the way I see a
thought.
Is this thought clear?
Yes, it is.
Is this image clear?
I… am not sure.
What does this image mean?
What image is supposed to mean?
A man in me says, let me analyze the image.
A woman in me says, let me emulate the image.
I wait. It is quiet. No one talks any more.
A though appears first vaguely, then it is repeated in
a course of clarification, enters discourse until it turns into a cliché.
An image may illustrate a thought and bear its meaning.
An image may appear as a thought, at first vaguely.
Let’s not attach words to it.
It stays vague.
It turns into a symbol.
It becomes familiar.
It ages.
It is still disturbing.
Let’s keep it that way.
What is this image?
This is a portrait of an old woman.
Does it accurately depict the old woman?
She wouldn’t agree that it does.
How it is a portrait then?
It looks like an old woman.
What is there above her cheek?
Yellow patches.
Why?
I don’t know.
It is obscure.
It is a symbol
...................
This portrait exists not only virtually
This portrait exists physicaly
Like a pile of shit
