The Gray Line by Laura Rodari
January is upon us. For some a time of resolutions, for me a time of nostalgia.
The Gray Line is my life. It’s a testament, a memoire, a collection of tokens.
I am face-to-face with the desolate gaze of a woman enclosed in her frame. Inside its confine, six booklets are neatly binded together in a colorless gradient, ghostly portraits and snippets are encased, mirroring the silver colors of the book. Like me, it is organized and polished on the outside, but its imagery is chaotic and conflicting, anxious and distressing, attempting to be poetic, however just sad on the inside.
A shrill note rings, cavernous and shrieking. I am constantly tired from my nightmares. Alone in this world, I am completely trapped in the past, unable to reach the present. Unending unrest.
Some pages are printed, while some bear the shadows of glued photos, ripped instances or fragments. Like my own memory, its sequences are rough, uneasy, quiet, perplexing and dark. Hopelessly disconnected.
Touches of color come disturb the negative of the photographs, figments of silence bare a solitude which is stuck in another era. Beyond this, the richness of each image’s surface, marked and blurred or double-exposed, over-exposed, ripped or taped, is mesmerizing. The images glow.
The Gray Line is like an abandoned cabinet, each photograph like a portrait of someone I once knew.
These holidays will become just another torn piece of imagery, a dysfunctional person’s melancholy glued on a page.
This text is part of The C.Sawyer project.
The project cultivates a character – C. Sawyer – who interlaces his/her personal analysis of Tipi’s photobooks with his/her unfolding life, thoughts, routine, emotions, relations, etc. Every now and then C. Sawyer writes a chronicle based on a selection of books.