photo-cropping, indeed, is a delicate task, one requiring mental concentration, visual acuity, and sensitivity of touch. the blade's trajectory is the fine line of infinitesimal width resting between
positive and negative space, between the pitch-black within the frame and the absolute white without. where the blade travels, Presence and Absence are split from the whole. obviously, the philosophical potential here is boundless, or at least as boundless as its boundlessness is obvious--what is a photograph's being? what is the being of its logicographical opposite, viz. the nonphotograph? what is the being of one being in the being of the other? what is the being of the being of one and the being of the other being in its entirety subsumed into the being of the sum of the being of the one and the being of the other?--yet the severance is so immediate, so silent, that it seems to disencourage meditation, or even threatens to flee the memory of its effector.
i know not now to express my feeling in words, but a tension invariably and incessantly plagues me as i shove the materiality of Absence (the unwanted edges) into the blue trash can, and as i glue the materiality of Presence (the cropped photograph) to yet another, albeit smaller, materiality of Absence (the white page of the notebook): am i saving ink, or am i wasting paper? alas, a kind of hell, a kind of heaven, the graph and the letter merged into one, then reduced to none.