the way it is...

Thursday, July 20, 2006

a letter

a letter to Jacqueline from 12.9.98 sent from Chicago to Baltimore

Dearest J,

I apologize for the delay of this birthday missive. Long hours at the mill and demands from my four legged roommate leave me dreary and therefore reluctant to gather my thoughts and send them your way. Currently I have engaged myself into a positive and energetic mode. I am enjoying my commute to and from work, as the experience has been different each day. Each bus has carried a different and unfamiliar load, and the drivers disposition is still a mystery to me as nine times out of ten....they have their head up their ass.

While on the bus......
A man and boy sit in front of me. The man, 50ish, with snow white hair and beard, the boy looked to be about 7. The boy talked freely at the window as he folded a one dollar bill into an airplane. The man gazed at him in admiration, allowing the boy to be a child. It seemed to me as though he was absorbing the child's "being". There was some physical distance between them. As the window was slightly opened, the boy was catching the breeze on his face as he talked about his dollar bill. The man began to caress the boys hair very gently, still looking steadily at the boys profile. The boy became silent and continued to play with his dollar bill, as if to allow himself to feel the mans hand on his head and then his neck and to his cheek the fingers lightly brushed. The boy distanced himself from the window...nestled into the mans side as the arm of the man wrapped around him. A smile was on the face of the man the entire duration within that space in time. As they depart the bus they appear anxious for one another and what was ahead.

On the same bus......
A man and a young girl sit to the left of me. The man, late 30's, the girl looked to be 7, and lonely. She sucked on her fingers until the man pulled them from her mouth. They exchanged this gesture several times with no giving of words. When they departed from the bus, the man walked ahead of the girl as if he wanted to lose her, and she stayed if she wanted to be lost.

   on a bus ride

I love you,

about Wendaferd

I was born to a carpenter and an artist/activist/homemaker in Indiana, right smack-dab in the middle of the middle class and white America. I am number 7 of 8. On a really good day my mother called me Wendaferd. I am an artist and the founder of SUGAR. My photographs explain what I am thinking. The image becomes a drawing of my conclusions. Within the captured moment lie my notions and opinions about the world I live. Cropping happens in the lens, eliminating unnecessary words, while enriching others that remain within the frame. I trust my instincts and intuitions as if they were logic. Gwendolyn Charlene Skaggs

days gone by

Elephant Ears

By Gwendolyn Skaggs