And Now, a brief intermission

Book Passage visual interpretation will be back soon. This next one required a bit of organizing and planning. An old woman, a pregnant woman and an eight year old girl meet in a cemetery...! No, it isn't the beginning of a joke but it is the list of characters I had to find for my next Book Passage visual. Child, easy. Pregnant woman, not too difficult. Old lady, near impossible. Hint: Wonderful, beautiful, mature women do not want to be photographed? If the weather cooperates (this is WI) I will create this image next Sunday the 15th and hopefully have it posted that evening or the next day.

So far, if I was ready to exhibit this series the images that would accompany the book passages would be:
1) Man in slippers with miniature furniture at his feet
2) The Weather Channel image of man watching TV weather guy
3) Landscape with toilet on the horizon

If you have already contributed a passage, I will provide you with a print of my visual interpretation of your book passage. If you haven't yet contributed this would be a great week to add yours to the comments section of this post. All participants will get a print when I get to your passage. So far I have approximately 15 contributions. I am trying to do them in the order that I received them. So if you are down the list please be patient and I hope that you find it entertaining to come back often to follow the complete visual journey. Below is the current passage that I have been planning and will photograph next Sunday.

Speak Memory by Vladamir Nabokov
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our experience is but a brief crack of light between two enormities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for (at some forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour). I know, however, of a young chronophobiac who experienced something like panic when looking for the first time at homemade movies that had been taken a few weeks before his birth. He saw a world that was practically unchanged-the same house, the same people- and then realized that he did not exist there at all and that nobody mourned his absence. He caught a glimpse of his mother waving from an upstairs window, and that unfamiliar gesture disturbed him, as if it were some mysterious farewell. But what particularly frightened him was the sight of a brand-new baby carriage standing there on the porch, with the smug, encroaching air of a coffin; even that was empty, as if, in the reverse course of events, his very bones had disintegrated.