Dr. Jack Sheppard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
standardblack) wrote2007-02-22 11:41 am
standardblack) wrote2007-02-22 11:41 am
Entry tags:
[CM] February 006 - Photograph Quote
"A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know." — Diane Arbus
He could feel it as he moved through the room, taking in not only the furnishing and decoration, but the photographs hanging on the walls. It was all pretty straightforward...staring him right in the face with samples of her work. Previous customers.
Only they weren’t just customers...they were more. Canvas...art...they were lumps of clay molded by ink and needle, and for this privilege the bodies in black and white willingly paid the price that was asked of them.
The dim light didn’t give much in the way of detail as Jack stared at the framed, professional photographs...vague monochrome impressions of characters and images branded into skin...yet at the same time, he could see everything as clearly as if the sun were streaming through the covered windows of the hidden room.
It was in the photographs and in the air...things happened here. He couldn’t call it power, and yet at the same time he could. It had no name, the current running through the air and raising the hair on the back of his neck...but whatever it was, he knew that it was the very thing he’d been searching for.
Every image had definition...light would only make that definition more visible. It wasn’t in the images he saw, it was in the sequence, the execution of the artwork. Truth lay before him, and the sight of it made him burn, inside and out...ache with the promise that those clear, perfect photographs provided.
He needed to know that kind of truth...needed more of the woman who created it than a few sweet, rough fucks on the floor of his tiny, humid bungalow.
Whatever it took...he needed to know just how far this gift of hers could go.
And when her voice rang out accusingly behind him...Jack knew he wouldn’t leave there until he had what he wanted.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 318
He could feel it as he moved through the room, taking in not only the furnishing and decoration, but the photographs hanging on the walls. It was all pretty straightforward...staring him right in the face with samples of her work. Previous customers.
Only they weren’t just customers...they were more. Canvas...art...they were lumps of clay molded by ink and needle, and for this privilege the bodies in black and white willingly paid the price that was asked of them.
The dim light didn’t give much in the way of detail as Jack stared at the framed, professional photographs...vague monochrome impressions of characters and images branded into skin...yet at the same time, he could see everything as clearly as if the sun were streaming through the covered windows of the hidden room.
It was in the photographs and in the air...things happened here. He couldn’t call it power, and yet at the same time he could. It had no name, the current running through the air and raising the hair on the back of his neck...but whatever it was, he knew that it was the very thing he’d been searching for.
Every image had definition...light would only make that definition more visible. It wasn’t in the images he saw, it was in the sequence, the execution of the artwork. Truth lay before him, and the sight of it made him burn, inside and out...ache with the promise that those clear, perfect photographs provided.
He needed to know that kind of truth...needed more of the woman who created it than a few sweet, rough fucks on the floor of his tiny, humid bungalow.
Whatever it took...he needed to know just how far this gift of hers could go.
And when her voice rang out accusingly behind him...Jack knew he wouldn’t leave there until he had what he wanted.
Muse: Jack Shephard
Fandom: LOST
Words: 318