Jacquelyn Johnson ; 1,001

The polite caption for this image is that a man has burnt himself, the footnote is that he is trying to save his own life. Two young sons exist in the world of this image; watching from inside of their shared bedroom. While we cannot see them, we see their old window and we see that it is of a dimension that would be a custom job if the family were not broken and instead interested in replacing it; better insulating their home. Even if they were renovating, the fact that it is a ranch-style home would not change. The setting is a mowed and suburban front lawn. The boys’ window requires to be built into a wall, which makes up for one half of the front of the one-story home, which casts a shadow that goes just beyond a shallow garden that perimeters the home. The shadow is dark enough that the garden, in this image, had to be indicated to me through the slight, brick proctor of the soil and the mowed lawn. Also, the subtle campaign of ivory details to a white rose bush versus the dark virus the sun and the build of the home decide, together, with whom to infect. There is a second rose bush (to the left) whose details are pink and, otherwise, green—without envy of the light another bush should receive. Where the subject stands, in the center of the frame, there would eventually be a third rose bush and it is going to be planted by another man. The gutters, unlike the guts of me and you and everyone we know, are aged but read as being painted white. Despite the stormy theatrics taken place, I do not believe it could have ever rained in this place. I speculate the downspout’s only function was to nearly intersect with the hand of the subject at one instance in time as it was actively on fire. Perspective taunts our subconscious with the application of cool rainwater to a burn. To follow that hand to a body is to invest in that, this man separating from his wife, is going to remember “alcohol is the substance which can burn but not burn up; lighter fluid just burns”. He is a white man but the other victims are not. I am not here to accuse an honest, fictional character of accessing Justin Bieber’s early aesthetic databank, but it is not information invaluable to the record or his hair cut. He is wearing a shirt that is a certain grey-tone which appears to be in shadow though he is not (except for at his feet), which you can assume has a breast pocket. The jeans he wears are Levi and bootcut and his socks are distinctly Hanes with grey heels and toe—which I identify as an embellishment despite being a modest one. Our man is simultaneously up on his toes and bent in his knees. If it weren’t his toes being gray, his posture would follow alternating, ninety degree cardinal directions, beginning with: north, west, north, east, north. Unless you are still starting at the top, then: south. west, south, east, south. Since he is on his toes, his upper body presents itself as straight though he tips forward fifteen or twenty degrees. The home is situated in the frame so that it can be drawn via one point perspective, with respect to a point staked out just left of the left thirds. The left edge of the window where the boys are probably developing an avoidable complex by now is situated on the vertical right thirds. The house ends what I assume to be 4 yards behind the subject; but perspective allows its edges to appear to almost make contact with what would be his forehead if his hair were not long enough to make me careful to assume whether or not it is even there. If I could be confident that this man is thoughtful, my eyes might see that he is leaning into it; leaning to anything. Instead his posture suggests that he is going to surrender to his knees, perhaps falling completely forward onto his face. For now his hand is still burning and the flames are orange and red. His forearm in the air comes across the page at approximately a forty-five degree angle from the top which connects to the upper half of his arm at a little over ninety degrees. His other arm, closest to you, is what he will use to bring anything close after this. The visual planes following the focus of the images are mostly green, like curtains. This moment is private, which is why I am not upset a green Ford Explorer is collaged into a neighborhood’s attempt at a tree line because its windows have been tinted. The same shadow previously mentioned has an effect on the boy’s window which would make it seem tinted from the outside, where our subject and their father is is burning. It is possible the man sees mostly his own reflection in pursuit of omen that he is not being selfish. There is little communication depicted in this image where the length of at least three trees look like telephone poles. And of course, there is not a cloud in the sky.

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