Just Beautiful
Mars has been telling me I look beautiful today for a month now so I wander down Telegraph to Moe's where there's a pleasant little book, "Tarkovsky's Polaroids", on the art book shelves, a production of, well, the great man's polaroids from the 80's and such, tweely-annotated here and there by short poems, gnomic utterances, or personal asides. In the age of photoblogs and things like Photo Noise it puzzles me that anyone would pay for this sort of thing — is there any cachet at all in the rather boring images being Tarkovsky's? Wouldn't you rather see random images from someone you'd never heard of, someone utterly anonymous? Wouldn't you rather have free rein to invent backgrounds, contexts, stories, emotions, etc., from anonymity and careless juxtapositions?
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