Prattle

This image is made from Fuji instant film.  My processing.  I am experimenting, applying some of the tricks I learned with Polaroid 669 and making up new things in an effort to get something that is my own and that I like.  This, I think, is already my own, but it is not something I love yet.  More work, but as I keep telling myself, I'm a clever boy.  I will think of something.  Already, though, I think it is not bad.

But I am working better than ever with what is left of the Polaroid.  And I found a stash of five hundred sheets of film.  The fucking Pirate wants almost $2,000 for it, though.  But I want the film.  I need a Patron or Matron just now.  I'll have a print sale.  I don't know.  I need to get the film.

I spent my entire Sunday working on images.  From five o'clock in the morning until almost midnight, take away two hours for exercise and two hours for dinner with my mother.  I processed ten images.  That is huge, but it is also like spitting in the ocean.  I take pictures much faster than I can produce images.  It is like the scene in "Fantasia" where Mickey dons the wizard's cap and replicates the mops and pails exponentially.  It is a nightmare.

I will get away soon, I've decided.  It will be a grand trip that will strip me of my slim financial means.  Surely, though, it will pay me back in. . . in something.  And I won't be at the factory.

O.K.  This sucked.  Maybe tomorrow.