Saturday, 20 April 2013

The Terrifying Truth of the Passage of Time



Two worlds separate these two images. In the lower one a group of friends, symmetrically disposed by gender say goodbye to Patrick Coyle, tenderly held by a loving girlfriend (Linda Rosembaum) as he is to embark on a trip at Toronto airport sometime in the summer of 1978. All five of them, youthful, smiling, wonderfully unaware of time, smile for the camera set on a tripod for the last shot before departure. The photographer smiles under a Panama hat not knowing that his older self would one day look at the scene and write these words.
The top image is a self-portrait of the same man, minus the hat, the shining black curls, the tan: a man alone one morning trying to use up the last remaining frames in his camera in front of his studio window (never wanting to let a frame go to waste), holding the cable release without realising that by coincidence an image of his youthful days will show up in an old box of prints a day later.
The abysmal distance between past and present has prompted these words in the cold spring of 2013.

Of all these friends I have only seen Patrick once, eleven years ago in England.
I don't know what has happened to Linda, Tucker and Bea, the remaining three in this beautiful group portrait taken so long ago in one of the marvellous summers of our youth.

3 comments:

larraz said...

He aprendido que hay que introducir la palabra "acepto" en tus pensamientos sobre el paso del tiempo para que empecemos a dejar de verlo como un monstruo terrible.

Un abrazo Lalo.

Lalo Borja said...

Gracias, mi estimado Larraz.
Siempre tan acertado en tus comentarios.
Un buen día me dejo caer por Zaragoza para tocar a tu puerta.
Recibe un fraternal abrazo.

larraz said...

Ojalá llegue ese día.