When I went for a run on the island (Margit Siget), I passed many photographers (many with the camera I had drooled over this summer) and assumed they were participating in a photography course. Later in the evening, while I was sitting down on the banks of the Danube, trying to take a picture of some ducks with the lit shore of Buda in the background, another man (with a pro camera) began taking the same picture near me. He came to talk to me (in magyar) afterwards; he was participating in a photo marathon with 400 other people in Budapest (if I understood him correctly--always a risk).
In reflection on flash, while in Vilnuis earlier this month for a meeting, I met a photographer, Mirjam Wirz, who worked on a publication for the "Flash Institut". A quote behind her work for this project, 'In English, the term 'moment' refers only to an instant of time, whereas the Spanish terminology 'momentito' denotes the complete extension of an instant, encompassing a psychological movement, an internally consistent series of thoughts or a situation of contextual events that may last from 'one instant to several hours, days, sometimes even years'.' (Monica Ramirez-Montagut, http://www.flashinstitut.com/index.php?/about-the-institut/).
In a moment of reflection, tonight,
in a flash--lights sputter on, turning the city from twilight to its night life. in a flash--she met HIM, and she knew who she would not vote for. jeremy cried as blood covered his homework, a papercut; and mrs. calahan would not accept his report like this. his cell phone rings; he GOT the job so there would be wine and steak tonight. the computer, she was going to back it up today--why won't it start? the ledge in the sidewalk, and now she’s covered in mud—no time to go back before the interview. only once, once never hurt anyone; she would never smoke again afterwards. a cry, a smile, a scream of joy, another life, another mcaphy, but where would the money come from? he shakes—her soft arm is still there next to him; it was only a dream. BOLD headline, there in the morning paper, and she knew, the army wouldn’t give him a choice this time. one bee buzzing around the driver’s head, one swerve and now—if only he hadn’t left the car window down last night. she liked her yellow dress, said she looked stunning; maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all. camera and his checkbook, gone—how had he forgotten to turn the lock? sealed envelope alone on the table and he’s praying that it’s an acceptance letter. An open door, the organ music beckoning, its only the service and its warmer inside, why not go in?