In Artists, Collages, Contes d'Exil, Current reading, Drafts, Games, Once in a parking lot, Poetry, Revision on July 16, 2014 at 8:04 am

So. We won’t play the game anymore. It started when someone told him I’d taken a shot of him on the drums during a concert. He asked for a copy. I promised to send it. Forgot about it. The next time I saw him, he pretended to frame for a shot. I laughed, apologized and promised again. Took another shot of him. Didn’t send it.

In the last few weeks, I ran into him everywhere. Clicked a photo each time. Published one on my local blog, taken at the Street Festival. He died of a heart attack some twelve hours later. Voilà. End of the game.


After we planted a chestnut tree and toasted his memory last night, I happened to mention to a friend part of a poem by Antonio Machado I used in a book of photos done to mark the Sixth edition of the festival. The poem seemed a natural to accompany La Carrioletta – a clownish retelling of one family’s exile from Spain under Franco. I quoted the lines, in Spanish and in French, as used in the book:

Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada mas

Toi qui marches, ce sont tes traces qui font le chemin, rien d’autre.

The friend listened. Asked me to repeat the French word for camino – chemin – and pulled this out of his pocket :


Magic? No. A wonderful game invented by his son and other third year students in the boy’s Art program. The game is simple: words painted on pebbles. You carry one in your pocket. When the moment seems right, and someone has just used the word painted on the pebble, you give it to the person. Who is then free to do whatever feels best with it. I like games with few rules and open-ended possibilities. For now, the pebble sits under the photo of a Siberian woman whose appearance inspired for a character others in the tale call La Kalmouke. Not so, she insists at the end of the stories. Her name is Celle-qui-marche. She-who-walks.

Allez? Revise another story done a few years ago?



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