The majestic curve of a river cutting through rolling plains can be seen in the enigmatic expanse of the spine's journey across a back. The monumental simplicity of a single atom is no more awe inspiring than the ridges and valleys, lines and curves of the human neck. The towering power of a mountain is held within the stunning peaks of a bottom laid bare. The mysterious draw of the moons path across the sky hints at the pilgrimage of the eye as it wanders across the sweep of a leg.
Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story.
She arches her body like a cat on a stretch. She smells of the sea. She smells of rockpools when I was a child. She keeps a starfish in there. I crouch down to taste the salt, to run my fingers around the rim. She opens and shuts like a sea anemone.
In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.
Begin to see yourself as a soul with a body rather than a body with a soul.
Photos by Stan Trampe, to see more click here .Selected quotes written by Jeanette Winterson.
The majestic curve of a river cutting through rolling plains can be seen in the enigmatic expanse of the spine's journey across a back. The monumental simplicity of a single atom is no more awe inspiring than the ridges and valleys, lines and curves of the human neck. The towering power of a mountain is held within the stunning peaks of a bottom laid bare. The mysterious draw of the moons path across the sky hints at the pilgrimage of the eye as it wanders across the sweep of a leg.
Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story.
She arches her body like a cat on a stretch. She smells of the sea. She smells of rockpools when I was a child. She keeps a starfish in there. I crouch down to taste the salt, to run my fingers around the rim. She opens and shuts like a sea anemone.
In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun. This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms. The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.
Begin to see yourself as a soul with a body rather than a body with a soul.
1 comments:
I once spoke through email with Stan Trampe (back when I thought I was going to major in photography). He's one of my favorite photographers - and he's self-trained (no schooling whatsoever). I have an issue of B&W Magazine that features a lot of his work. If I can find it, I'll bring it by.
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