In this bitter Spring even the daffodils are deconstructed.
Tell me, O wise one, if millions of people say something is good, is it?
My scrap book grows fat while the earth in the garden is still too cold to germinate seeds. Contrasts in scale and content continue to surprise even me who put the pages together. On the latest spread to be completed is a Nineteenth Century photograph of a Japanese woman sitting at a desk in a long, spotted skirt smoking a cigar. Next to her is a nightingale. Below that, Roger Federer executing a backhand; a badger; a Rembrandt self-portrait; a photograph of The College of Cardinals in full regalia taken from behind; Stone Henge;and a Rubens picture of the Three Graces with plump, wrinkly bottoms and pretty faces. And several other images culled from papers and magazines as I discard them.