STILL
Jo u r n e y o f In e r t i a WORDS by ALAN MINKOVICH ART by GRAEME FISHMAN
The photographs of Garry Winogrand were described as being fascinatingly dynamic while remaining still frames. In many regards, Garry was ahead of his time, because that’s exactly what this fruitless journey of mine has felt like — an ever evolving change of state as static as old Garry’s photos. I entered quarantine in troubling circumstances, with this journey beginning and a hunger for a change of scenery burning inside of me. The universe laughed: that distant online rumour became reality, Rudy Gobert touched a few microphones, and I was stuck home for the foreseeable future. I couldn’t bear the thought of reopening that chest, containing the memories before the unrest. A segment of my life had come to end and it was time to move onto the next chapter… But even when you finish a chapter in a book, those words don’t disappear, the text doesn’t cease to exist, the events that transpired don’t vanish, and with my body restricted to the modest confines of my parent’s house, my mind was doing A LOT of rereading. Advice on how to continue this journey of mine always comes back to the same point: keep yourself distracted. Ok. A couple of sit-ups and push-ups a day. A deadlift here and a chest-press there. Time to go for some walks and be in nature, or maybe even watch a movie or two. The tides turn ever so slightly, until a song pops into my shuffled Spotify playlist, reopening the buried chest of memories, the sea violently jerks me back, and I’m back to square one.
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