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At first all I see is the sweetness. The two together, the peace and intimacy that I so wanted when I was single. The idea of the other half, different but the same. The absence of loneliness. It makes me think of two things in parallel, the time of our twenties, which longed for such a partner, and the sweet time before there were children (and before the fear that there might never be children). The light is so warm. The world seems very complete. The balance between the little conker animals on their matchstick legs and the symmetry of light, the window for one, and the light from the window on the wall for the other.  The unfocussed branch (is it eucalyptus?) at the top matches the little bit of gubbins on the surface at the bottom. It’s a peaceful image, where the static of time is inviting rather than oppressive.

But then I noticed the faces on the animals. The one by the window looks like the Roswell alien. Which is funny at first. But the other one is more skull like. Actually, it looks like Munch’s screaming head. It’s unnerving, in such an intimate image, and now I find it hard to look at anything else. The still image has become a moving one, with its own before and after, innocence and experience.

You see how neatly I am moving from you to me, from still images to moving film. Maybe because I am trying to shape this into a story. And there are so many stories that could come from this picture. I bet in one of them those little match-head feet are going to ignite. But I don’t have a story right now for these little creatures. Actually, stories are a little elusive at the moment. Maybe, between projects and tied up in endless practicalities, all I can do at the moment is look.

Can I have something else to look at?