Bench Awaiting Print

Just off the road, on my journey back from a failed painting exhibition near Montreux, Switzerland, I happened upon a seeing glass. After negotiating countless blind curves and hairpin turns, the drive had my lips beaten, nearly bloodied. At the tail end of the climb up and over the Gorges du Verdon, my right boot let go the accelerator. It wasn't so much the road's crest or the vertical drop that had unnerved me, but instead, the snips of memories and grated wishes that seemed to ride shot-gun as I ascended the Alps. The winding road jostled free memories, desires, angers, and regrets, those of the exhibition, the tiring transformations of career I had undergone, and of course the many affairs, despairs and repairs of heart. Sometimes she serpentined like a lady, dainty and discreet. Other times, like an amateur whore, rough and reluctant. At somewhere around 2000m, the nose of the road flipped downward. From then on, through the crack-opened window of my hand-painted red, white and black-trimmed camper, the rushing scent from the river below stretched my nostrils open wide and infused each passageway, every cavity of my lackluster lungs, with eons of stardust. What was I being hijacked, drugged, or seduced by? I surrendered to not knowing. A parking area to the right pulled me in. There, a naturally formed balcony, framed by mammoth sections of lumbering timber, overlooking the flow of ages, seemed to draw my hands off of the steering wheel. In slo-motion, it reeled me in like a naive fish. The wheels curled to a rest. They didn't make a crunching sound. Instead, over the deathless dirt and off the towering cliffs, their crawling roll was elegant, musical, hypnotic, respectful. As I exited, the hearty soup of haze parted to a downward path. The dozing light had me turned inward, hushed without a tongue to interrupt the grand yet oh so simple stage. Not even a faint notion of time or purpose was tempting enough to measure then. Fast and fleeting were my thoughts. The only thing that endured and elongated was my breathing. When I peered through the trees and along the descending path, I discovered a lone bench, facing a screen of white sky, in the middle of nowhere, and yet, waiting to take me everywhere. --- Technical specs: Original and Limited-editions are museum-quality, archival pigment prints on high-end fiber-based papers.They are shipped hand signed, numbered, titled and dated along with accompanying certificate of authenticity. This open-ended series offers more economical images that are printed and shipped unsigned, only from . Thank you~ Baronsky