in dialogue kelann currie-williams || 2016
in dialogue a series in three acts
Are you what’s left? What’s left of us? I know I’m left. Left here. Left alone. Left to think. Left to stare. I’ve been left for awhile now. A really long time. The longest time, really. Longer than I thought. Longer than I realized. Longer than is normal.
But I suppose there’s nothing normal about any of this. It’s normal to live and to die. To exist and then not exist. To want to exist in death or not exist in life. All of that’s normal. This though, this is not normal. It’s not normal that I even had to ask if you were the last of us.
Watch Me Breath Under The Sea 2015
What sort of question is that? Why does that sort of question exist? How are we here? Why did we get here? Neither of those questions need an answer. There is no answer. At least, I have no answer.
I know that once, many years ago, we lived in every corner of the world. We lived and thrived and created and destroyed and struggled and died. And thatâ€™s what we didâ€Ś for however long we have lived on this planet, it was our cycle.
The inevitable cycle that cycles and repeats. But it seems to have… stopped. Halted by something – by someone. I don’t really know what or who or why or even when it started. I didn’t notice until it was something worth noticing. It was a thought that need not be thought of.
In Dialogue or (What More Can Be Said) 2016
But here it is. Here I am thinking about the thought and what the thought means because if it means what I think it means, then I donâ€™t want to think anymore.
I don’t want to think of myself as one of the last. I don’t want to think of there even being such thing as the last. I’ve watched others become the last become the last of their kind. It’s ugly and it’s sad.
And I don’t mean sad like you shed a few tears, I mean sad like you cry until you’re numb and those salty tears begin to taste like... normalcy. I’ve held the last in my hands. I’ve squeezed it and hugged it and kissed it goodbye.
And it’s ugly. But it’s also beautiful. It’s not both. Please don’t think it’s both. The last is something that draws me in because there’s no next after the last. Once you reach the last, that’s the last of it. What happens after the last?
It doesn’t begin again, if that’s what you’re thinking. It doesn’t restart. Once it ends, it’s the end. And you’re simply left with whatever is left behind. In this case, I was what was left behind. Left to die. Left to scream. Left to cry. Left to think.
And I keep thinking: what came first â€“ the chicken or the egg? Both would make sense. Both would put it all together. Both means a cycle. Both means a future. A futureâ€Ś that is no longer possible. Not now. Not anymore.
So now, youâ€™re left with me. Me in all my glory. In all my solitude and with all my thoughts. I should say that my thoughts are seeped in memories.
No thoughts on the future. Only on the past. But I suppose the past seeps into the present and on into the future so weâ€™ll always be talking about all three.
Frozen in Time 2016
In any event: youâ€™ll be with meâ€Ś At the end, with the last and talking about the past. With the last, talking about the past, at the end. Talking about the past, at the end, with the lastâ€Ś
Is This The End? 2014
I’m Looking Up 2016
When I close my eyes I hear those thoughts and those memories, and they screech and tear away at my mind and I struggle to breathe. But I continue. I search for other lasts and almost lasts and I try so hard to keep them safe and kiss them and hold them but itâ€™s hard.
But even after you jump right into all of it. Jump right into the centre of the storm â€“ the eye of the storm, you begin to see too much. Enough for a dozen lifetimes. And in your effort to save and protect the last you watch as others do the opposite. You watch people derive pleasure from the last. You watch them become greedy over the last. You watch them kill for the last.
Faux Foliage 2014
To Live in a Nunnery 2015
Me? No, not me. Not I. Not anything even close to me. I watched. I waited. But no, it was not me. Iâ€™m the last of my kind. Iâ€™m alone - not by choice, but alone nonetheless. I adapted. I took matters into my own hands and fought to stay alive.
The Roses Are Dead 2014
Source of Life 2014
And here I am: A man well- fought. A man alone. I am alone talking about the past, at the end, and Iâ€™m the last. Iâ€™m the one, the only and the last.
Excerpt from “The Last of the Ladybugs”, an one-act play by Kelann Currie-Williams (2016)
All original photography by Kelann Currie-Williams
List of Series, Photographs, & Cameras: Nikon D5100 // digital
Watch Me Breathe Under The Sea, Rosetta, In Dialogue or (What More Can Be Said), Underpass, Untitled, Frozen in Time, Iâ€™m Looking Up
Minolta X-GA // 35mm
Is This The End?, Faux Foliage, The Flowers Are Dead, Source of Life
Minolta X-570 // 35mm To Live in a Nunnery
flickr - bl4ckberrystone
instagram - m0vingpictures
Photography book for my Intermedia production class, featuring excerpts from my one act play.