I'm looking at the image, trying to study it, digging into it, wanting to guess some riddle. In "A Lover's Discourse: Fragments" Roland Barthes compares a lover who is closely inspecting the body of the beloved, with a child disassembling the clock in an attempt to find out what time is. In this comparison I recognize myself. Methodically scrutinizing the image, searching for some more details, I become obsessed with the search. The meticulous attempts to interpret the visible details deprive photography of its language.
The flash helps out the gaze by commiting an act of violence in regard to the image once more. Now all the details are brightly lit, nothing is hidden, but the meaning slips away, getting lost behind this excessive exhibitionism of representation. The dismantled clock lies in front of the child, the image remains inaccessible, the time stops.