Author: mail

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Night searches the streets, lanes and vennels of old Edinburgh, looking, searching for light to paint with shades darkness, revelers follow with steps of gaiety first words then laughter are heard only to be replaced by an inviting, enticing taunting, riff come join me, followed by another then another, until the old town is fragmented into a mosaic of bricks and sound.

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A moment of mirth, a memory is captured within a sphere of latex carried on the wind, tethered by some arcane actinic thread reflected from some hidden light source, escaping from a window like a thief into the cold night air.

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In the blink of an eye it will all be surrendered to the realm of light, and the old town, once more will dance to the rhythm and beat of a different drum.

nnGrey ingots of  first lightnnare picked up by the azure glove of daynnand thrust into the  golden embers of the setting sunnnbefore being melded into day upon the ringing black anvil of night.nnT. Adams 2015

nnAcrylic on canvas

Photograph by T.AdamsnnThe singer’s voice speaks,nnit is not essential to understand the wordsnnit is enough to be captured by the beauty of the sound , we stand transfixed in our own personal mindscape of the pitch, cadence, rhythm,nnOh! – The simplicity of vibration.nnAs a child whistling with my brother amazed at the distortion created when the two frequencies clashed what an experience existing yet spawned by neither of us.nnThis image is offered to as a homage to that, which does not exist but is there,nnWithout light the word is not visible, if the book remains closed, although that  inside which exists it is not seen.nnAnd yet as an image it sings its own song.