The photographs of John Dugdale
Nineteenth c. Photographic Society
The Photography of John Dugdale
No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs
touched my palate than a shuddder ran through me and I stopped,
intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me.
An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated,
detached, with no suggestion of its origin.
And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me,
its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – it was me…
Whence did it come? What did it mean?
How could I seize and apprehend it?
And suddenly the memory revealed itself…
