blackandwhiteand

Upon rediscovering my old copy of this lovely book, given to me by my brother years ago, I become more enamored with the cover than the sum of the photographs. It is saying much with little...
And perhaps this is saying little with much? Sign language is strange and beautiful, so much can be said through the grace of a gesture, the subtleties and rhythms  of what is unspoken. In how many ways do we communicate? So many dialects, so many languages. So many reinterpretations of written letter forms. So many symbols...
Collage illustration by Lorenzo Petrantoni. I am suddenly feeling directionless. Do I follow the fish?

Czech modernist alphabet, as I try so hard to believe in the beauty of communication, collaboration, the simple architectures of a's and b's and c's...
...I cannot help but feel incomplete, with no red left in sallow cheeks. My life seems stuck in black and white, a series of contrasts, contradictions. I hold my head high only to skydive through the fog to the blackness of unproductivity, to the 100100100100 where I eat the dirt of inadequacy. I am losing my ability to communicate, process, create. Last night I re-learned morse code, but what good will that do, when no one speaks the language of the sea. I want to have purpose. I want to work. But I grow idle, and more so than fearing my continuous plummets, I fear the settling in of a persistent shade of grey.