Wander into the eyes of Acan, 85, Cambodian. He sits in the stone dorway of an ancient Angkorian temple selling carved wooden elephants and bowed instruments.
I sit with him in the shade and listen to him strum. We talk little, but somehow a lot is communicated.
My mind wanders to another place when I look at this picture. Across the wrinkles of his forehead, along the eyebrows and around the eyes, I pause and gaze before sloping down his right neck muscle and into a bay of soft focus. The flow pulls me around the back, down his left shoulder and out into an expansive sea devoid of thought. I have drifted into emptiness. I am calm and rested.
And then I hit the fabric of his trousers and am jerked back into the intensity of his face!
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His expression, the emotion he portrays, the harsh lines in his face almost tell his story. Wow thank you so much for such an amazing image.
the other day I cried over poetry for the first time, laying in bed, tears filling my ears ...
ahhh ... the power of art.