1992

Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

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1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

Read more

1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

Read more

1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

Read more

1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

Read more

1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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Illumine

Read more

1992

Light, oil, dye destruction print

69 x 69 cm / 27 x 27 "

 

I was once shown an incredibly beautiful set of Cibachrome prints of abstract-looking photographs. There were actually photograms but they were completely mysterious. There was no way of knowing how they were produced. In a way I knew that knowing was unimportant – after all, they were some of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen. Superbly rich and powerful colours and amazingly graceful but active shapes floated in fields of light. I kept on looking and enjoying them. I keep on feeling what they were giving out as images. I kept marveling at the mind of the artist that made them. I wanted to know what he believed – his orientation of mind. I had my suspicions. I thought Ouspensky. I thought Blavatasky, I thought Besant, Leadbeater, and Varley. I was so curious about all of this – all of what I would now call the important things – the “information”, if you can imagine that word with all its '60s flavor. But more than any of that – to my eternal shame – I wanted to know how they were made. I really, badly needed to know. I knew what he would say. I knew it from his failure to offer the information as we went through the prints. And it knew it wasn’t done to ask. Finally, when against my better judgment I did, it took me a full six months to forget the answer that he so reluctantly gave. The prints definitely had more to do with angels than with the worldy objects that had made them.

 

Though I know how the fabric of Garry Fabian Miller’s pictures are made – I also know that it is not important to know. The beginning of all wisdom is to look fixedly on Clothes until they become transparent.

 

Christopher Bucklow from the essay ‘Garry Fabian Miller – The Tailor Patched’. Catalogue: Between Sun and Earth. The Photographers Gallery, London 1993.

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