#wright morris

[joeinct]

Church and House, Virginia City, Nevada, Photo by Wright Morris, 1941

[thephotoregistry]

Houses on Incline, Virginia City, Nevada, 1941

Wright Morris

[yama-bato]

Wright Morris

Eroded Soil, Faulkner Country, Mississippi, 1940

[nobrashfestivity]

Wright Morris White Church Facade, Rahway, New Jersey 1940s

[questcequecestqueca]

Wright Morris

[enablesomething]

© Wright Morris

In the dry places, men begin to dream. Where the rivers run sand, there is something in man that begins to flow. West of the 98TH Meridian - where it sometimes rain and it sometimes doesn’t – towns, like weeds, spring up when it rains, dry up when it stops. But in a dry climate, the husk of the plant remains. The stranger might find, as if preserved in amber, something of the green life that was once lived there, and the ghosts of men who have gone on to a better place. The withered towns are empty, but not uninhabited. Faces sometimes peer out from the broken windows, or whisper from the sagging balconies, as if this place – now that is dead – had come to life. As if empty it is forever occupied.

- from 『Wright Morris'』 novel 『The Works of Love』

[infiniterichesinalittleroom]

His eyes sought the broken, the worn, the faded, the fragmented. A complete object made him sad. What could one do with a complete object? Put it in a museum. Not touch it. But a torn paper, a shoelace without its double, a cup without saucer, that was stirring. They could be transformed, melted into something else. A twisted piece of pipe. Wonderful, this basket without a handle. Wonderful, this bottle without a stopper. Wonderful, the box without a key. Wonderful, half a dress, the ribbon off a hat, a fan with a feather missing. Wonderful, the camera plate without the camera, the lone bicycle wheel, half a phonograph disc. Fragments, incompleted worlds, rags, detritus, the end of objects, and the beginning of transmutations.

from Rag Time by Anaïs Nin collected in Under A Glass Bell

[gacougnol]

Wright Morris (1910 - 1998)

Through the Lace Curtain (from The Home Place, near Norfolk, Nebraska) 1947