Veiled and Drunk

The photograph is a small fragment of the photographer’s extended, multi-year memories, shortened to a one-and-a-half-meter memory. They are condensed to the length of a 35mm film, and the negative of this photograph is about four centimeters of that one-and-a-half meters. So it seems we have the right not to see some parts of these memories or to try to imagine them in our mind. Speaking of the photograph’s negative, which according to Jeffrey Batchen is the “other” of the photograph — or the absent half. It is the instant we do not see. Here too, the photograph itself seems to be that “other” of the memories. The absent part of the memories. The car frame seems to point to the film frame, and the photographer shows a view from the half-frame of the car that we don’t know where it is. In front of this view stands a woman who has veiled her face — neither seeing us nor the view — and we see neither her nor the view. And in this accumulation of not seeing, can imagination be brought to the workshop of seeing? The veiled (or hidden) has a state that we don’t know what kind of state it is.
But whatever it is, the photograph, as years pass, seems to speak about our current state.