The eye

The photographs are silent.
That’s the thing about them. The silence.
Yet you can hear them
if you listen late at night with the house all quiet
if you listen in the blackness when the band’s gone home
if you listen in the breaks
between transmissions
you’ll hear them.

Light is nothing. Potential.
Imaginary lines of force.
And light is everything.

Listen to the black-and-white abstraction
Listen to the wink in the colour
Listen to the lucid lines and angles
Listen to the eye
You’ll hear them

For Anton Corbijn