I have nothing but my memory to remind me, and those few words of yours laid neatly on the wall. What chances then for your survival, among a world of artistic competition. Would one photograph be a catastrophic difference, or is it the fear that this picture too would be overlooked. Jesûs Mari Lazkano how do I see beneath your surface, how do I get under your superficial skin? I do see the point; or rather I don't see the one point, I see many points to view, but somehow too big a thing to grasp. For certain without your explanation I would not see the layered depths that you speak of so neatly; so how do I regain you, when I have nothing, nothing but my memory to remind me.
