The biography of a book chapter: a short photo essay

The Trickster Prince

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It starts with the sources and stories; that’s where it always starts. Not stories that exist full-formed and discerned. No. These are stories that exist always-already in-the-process-of-becoming; stories that consist in half-thought ideas, half-glimpsed connections, half-baked moments. Intuition? Perhaps. Often I do not know where they come from. Always I suspect they are wrong but worth trying still.

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It continues with the sources. Hard won over many years and forgotten long ago. To re-enter box files is to meet old friends or to be struck with the shock of the new. I told you I had forgotten these sources long ago. It continues as an archaeology of our accreted days and months in some dusty archive or other.

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It stops. It stops just at the moment when you open a document to begin. The blank page takes on the haunting qualities of nightmare. The blank page seems a proxy for…

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