from Marisa Silver's Mary Coin:
She ended her first session in the new darkroom disheartened. The images she’d made in the desert were unconvincing. The beauty she’d seen with her eyes was inert, the forms taking the shapes of platitudes, generic postcard images that travelers would buy and send home to prove they had been to a place. Her close-up pictures of a cactus flower, the shed skin of a black-tailed rattlesnake, and the sun-scorched bones of a dead cow were rank imitations: flat, unyielding, without resonance, as though her mind was already made up about what she was looking at before she lifted her camera to her eye. The pictures were evidence of her dulled imagination.
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