There was always “The Muse.” 1973 just started seeking, unsure of direction, not knowing the muse. Francis a friend from High School who I loved sweetly. We didn’t really date but our closeness was intense perhaps scary. Later I would realize I loved all the muses. She was a romantic realist we shared that outlook. Her in NY me in E. Ct both missing childhood. An afternoon by the pond in back of the “Museum” her parents home in Coventry. Where in High School we would hang out a very magical place and time. Four years later we played, created, a kiss and laughter for a few hours we traveled back to the garden.
The Sad Poet
I last saw Fran in the early eighties we were both struggling with demons. I was back in Coventry after being assaulted, pistol whipped in Providence while losing the love of my life. Fran struggling with a marriage. We were both in Coventry we hung out smiled over lunch. We will get together again soon. She called I was busy she going back to NYC, me chasing lost love. She said good bye, I was sad confused wanting to see her but trying to find…………The demons took her I never saw her again.
peace pjc
Photographic Art The Seventies a Dancer by Francis’s Pond
Sorrow can be very sweet, depends on how you reflect on it?
Makes me think how times that past can at times seem like such a small piece of ourselves and at other times feel like a much larger piece of who we’ve become
That is strong…very strong…
Sandi,
Time is a fickle, I like the times where I realize how large a part of what I have become is from all the people I have loved. pjc
Thanks Robert, A friend once described my images as my soul etched in the negative. peace pjc