Cathedrals, pt. II: Dead End
The latest photo dispatch from Dimitri Karakostas
Discordia remote correspondent Dimitri Karakostas sends another report from the frontlines of nowhere: “There are cathedrals everywhere, for those with eyes to see.”
See pt. I here.
I'm now officially 'off the road.' The growing season has started and I, a simple farmer, must abide by the weather.
It's still cold here, absolutely; too cold to be outside for long periods of time. My metropolitan upbringing proves me to be weak, unfit to serve. I should be photographing a war somewhere.
I'm not looking for a way off the farm, no—I do like it here, I like LARPing as a regular guy—but I find myself conflicted with the work I do in the off-season.
I can call it work because there's an exchange of money involved. I'm being paid to go nowhere, do nothing. It's the business of art, people. I always hated people calling their poetry zines 'work.' That should be a pleasure cruise, not 'work.' Get a job, I say, as I'm booed into oblivion.
I'm not thinking of photography now that I’m normal again. I'm not thinking of writing about photography, either—hence this email coming more than a couple of days late. The switch flips and I stop thinking about the world as what I can take from it—after all, there are crops that need tending to.
In a few weeks, I'll be eager to leave again. I'll be planning the next great escape. I've been working on a proposal to drive from Columbine to Dealey Plaza, Oklahoma City, Ruby Ridge, Waco... something more interesting than me.
Memory Fog, a book of photographs from this particular amnesiac wandering, is available now.
DIMITRI KARAKOSTAS was abandoned by his family and forced into the artist sweatshops at a young age. He now is retired, living in Honduras with his beautiful young wife and their angry bull terrier.  | A guest post by
|