Genealogy of Nights.

#052

For nearly a year, I’ve been working on a project inspired by a line from a poem by Irene McKinney, West Virginia’s poet laureate from 1994 until her death in 2012. McKinney published seven collections of poetry throughout her career, but it was the one published after her death that introduced me to her work.

In 2020, I read Have You Had Enough Darkness Yet? (West Virginia Wesleyan College Press, 2013). I underlined several passages from a number of poems, but a phrase from her poem “Unthinkable” etched itself into my memory. I’ve been carrying it with me since then.

I am age, I am later,
I’m wider scope, the blue note
in the barn, the sister of hope,
the broad-based axe of dream.
I am time-slotted for relief,
the torn-down home,
the bright angle confused
in the sun, the shirt of pink,
the fragranced wrist, the hub.
Genealogy of nights, the faded
ancient rug. The endless drone
of accumulation, the months
and years stacked up like dice,
like blocks. The going-on,
the going away, diminuendo.
Erosion then, the hanging-on.

I copied the poem, taped it to my wall, and read it almost every day for a year. When I changed jobs in 2021, I took it off the wall and brought it home, but always kept in within reach on my desk. I’ve lost count of its readings, but have paid attention to my interpretation of it over time.

Last year, I set out to work on Genealogy of Nights. Inspired by moments blurred by time, fragments of dreams, and the quiet inheritance of memory, I’m moving through this work not knowing exactly where it will take me.

This is a work in progress, raw and unpolished. I’m moving slowly and curiously, making photographs and prints and notes as I seek to work this out. Ultimately, I plan for this to be a book; I believe photobooks and exhibits are the best way to experience photographic projects and long form work.

Thanks for reading and supporting my work.

- Roger