Tuesday, July 17, 2012

the wide river of rain

A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. I say 'one chooses' with the inaccurate pride of a professional writer who—when he has been seriously noted at all—has been praised for his technical ability, but do I in fact of my own will choose that black wet January night on the Common, in 1946, the sight of Henry Miles slanting across the wide river of rain, or did these images choose me? It is convenient, it is correct according to the rules of my craft to begin just there, but if I had believed then in a God, I could also have believed in a hand, plucking at my elbow, a suggestion, 'Speak to him: he hasnt seen you yetGraham Greene, The End of the Affair


Judith Stanley said...

What a wonderful thought to combine these two sets of images - the words and the painting. I appreciate them both more now than before. Thank you!

victoria thorne said...

brilliant you. always a sweet delight to be here.

erica lorraine scheidt said...

oh! thanks.