A tale of night angling, wherein we see the voyeur’s shadow cast by moonlight as we follow Roger’s telluric amphibian wandering. Cutting through the vermeil and silver glades, slipping through lingering vapors, we enter the magic of a secret place.
Deep in the teeming underwood, both beauty and the macabre become equals in nature’s eye, light and dark, the positive and negative, have shed their moral skin.
Onwards, led by the wood-nymphs selenium trail, we quietly pass a stern and sullied Ophelia, a sleek salamander peering from the furrows of her gown.
Alone by the cool pond, lulled and then surprised by the muffled death throws of a choking trout – we gasp – now scurrying through the brambles, scratched by taboo-blue rose thorns. Dizzy, we heed at once to pleasure and pain, dumbfounded at the sight of the bittersweet specimens scattered in his wake.
Upon the first light of dawn, our red-haired poacher locks his traps, triggering the shutter closed, as gelatin slowly glazes over his kingdom.
Ecstatic, he casts flutters of life in layers of amber, fragmenting time in shards of light, Frequently. Moth rushes to butterfly and- frozen – stares back at us within its vitrified domain.
Guillaume Gallozzi NYC 1989