Flickr Group

October 2020

What is “Black + White”?

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Exhibition Catalog

50 works by 37 Second Life Photographers

Ambre Singh

In this remarkable photograph Ambre Singh takes us, literally, to The End of the Road. To a place where the land meets the water. To a place where the person you have been meets the person you may become.

Singh’s motorcycle represents freedom. Yet this freedom has taken us to a body of water it might not be able to cross. Is it a shallow stream she can ride across? Is it the shore of the nearly untraversable Blake Sea? Does Singh’s silhouetted figure gaze out at the end of a day? Or toward the beginning of a new one?

The deep shadows in which Singh’s body and bike are buried make the image less directly personal. In those shadows could be You, or Me, or Ambre Singh. From the silhouette you might recognize the model of her motorcycle. I recognize her ubiquitous ponytail feather hanging past the back of her neck. Whether it is about You, Me, or Her, this quiet moment of contemplation suggests a next move that is neither quiet nor slow. Do we ford across the river? Or swim? Do we ride home? Or camp here tonight?

For seven years I dwelt
In the loose palace of exile,
Playing strange games
With the girls of the island.
Now I have come again
To the land of the fair, & the strong, & the wise.
Brothers & sisters of the pale forest
O children of Night
Who among you will run with the hunt?
Now Night arrives with her purple legion.
Retire now to your tents & to your dreams.
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth.
I want to be ready.
Jim Morrison

Apple

flickr.com/photos/184313362@N04

She gazes directly at us. And yet, does not.

When Rihanna stares at a camera, or when Victorine Meurent stares at a painter, I feel the intense, aggressive power of their gaze. Of their presence. Whatever I was thinking before is steamrolled over by the power of their presence.

Not so with Apple’s On Mine. She gazes directly at us, yet is not with us. Apple’s portrait demands nothing. Yet offers everything. Everything, if we are willing to spend time with her in the quiet beauty of this place she inhabits.

On Mine. On my Mind. What is mine? What is on my mind? What is hers? What is on her mind? Her eyes are dry, but could just as easily be brimming with tears. She’s put on a black dress and tied a black ribbon around her neck. Her hair in an elegant updo that pretends to be casual.

Is this loss?

The end of a relationship? The loss of a loved one? Or a parent? Or a child?

Is this longing?

Not the emptiness of missing someone? But the desire to fill her world, or my world, or your world, with some nurturing presence. Longing to become whole? Longing to discover the missing parts that we doesn’t even know are missing?