My Sèvres lies in a thousand fragments in the fireplace, the Hokusai scrolls are punctured in a dozen places. In this uneasy stillness, broken only by my wife’s faint breathing and the irregular movement of my son across the carpet, I can see that almost everything I have assembled so lovingly during the past years has been destroyed. I am lying on the floor by the settee, looking at the camera mounted safely out of reach on the ceiling above my head. It is now half an hour since the explosion, and everything in this once elegant sitting room is silent. In all senses, this film will be the ultimate home-movie, and I only hope that whoever watches it will gain some idea of the immense affection I feel for my wife, and for my son and daughter, and of the affection that they, in their unique way, feel for me. As I lie here – barely able to breathe, my mouth filled with blood and every tremor of my hands reflected in the attentive eye of the camera six feet away – I realize that there are many who will think my choice of subject a curious one. Now that I am surrounded for the first time by all the members of my family it seems only fitting that a complete record should be made of this unique event. Within a few minutes the next attack will begin.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |