bodily presence left behind
in imprints
clinging to the sheets
reminders of what was
what could be
what definitely realised
in a culmination
of bodily desire
ruffled sheets
all that remains
in a now empty room
Waking up, I felt a strange presence in the room. Not because I thought that there was someone else physically in the room with us, but rather the presence of a memory.
The sheets were ruffled, out of place, and not like we found it. The sheets were full of cracks, like the walls, and the paintings became eyes that looked at us through slits through the walls.
The room itself became another observer, one that could also remember the moments leading to the disrupted sheets.
And for some reason, the table resting against the wall felt out of place, like a lamp that did not match the room, a crack in the matrix that demanded attention - but the more you look the stranger it becomes.
The table for some reason captivated me; it demanded my wholehearted attention. I lose myself in its movement, dancing against the white wall. The finish, the studs, the weak legs, I could not detach my attention from this moment.
A crack in the matrix, a moment in which the realness of the object becomes the very aspect that makes you question whether it is real or not. I know it is real, my mind told me, but there is just something to this table...
The moment turned into pure speculation about the concrete. I was not aware of my thoughts, but I am sure I was thinking.
I turned into fluid, trying to move from my fixed position into the world that started to slip through the cracks, I wanted to squeeze through these cracks. But I could not.
For I was sure that the table existed.
But for the crack to emerge, I had to relinquish this thought of existence and squeeze my being through the slit of existence into the world where this very scene was eternalised.
A world in which this very scene played itself out over and over again. But with each rendition, the crack slowly showed itself more and more. And this is where I found myself, staring at the table wondering what was going on in this room that I could not place myself... In the room where I constantly felt the presence of myself but detached from my body...
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The presence of our previous selves showed itself through the ruffled sheets that matched the contortions of our bodies. We became memories fixed on the walls next to the cracks and the paintings that looked at us with their jealous eyes.
We eternalised our emotions and desires through the cracks in the walls, the eyes that looked at us, the sheets that could no longer not present the outlines of our bodies.
The light from the sun started coming through the windows. The outside world woke up before my mind could adapt to the moving table, the disrupted sheets, the cracks forming in front of my eyes. The windows cast shadows and hid the light in its back pocket. I became the moment the birds started to call, the walls started to creak, and my lover's voice emerged from her sleep.
The moment was destroyed, and I returned to the room, with my former self and my lover draped in linen and sheets.
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I set foot out of the bed, and I wondered how I emerged from the cracks of my dream, in an empty room, with nothing but the memories that clung to my skin, that disrupted the flow of the sheets, that strangled my nightmares.
But here I was, facing a table I did not understand, slipping through the cracks of my thoughts.
I hope that you enjoyed these musings and the photographs of an empty room.
For now, happy photographing and keep well.
All of the musings and writings are my own, albeit inspired by the room that presented itself as empty but with the outlines of our bodies fixed on the sheets. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Nikkor 50mm lens.