Hospital Blinds

Imagine you are in a hospital bed. The bed is in a room that was meant to be a single, but now has two beds and two occupants. The other occupant is a nice man, but he coughs continuously. Ventilation is poor. The room window faces onto what is essentially an air shaft. At 6AM, the bright, florescent lights go on overhead, and a smiling phlebotomist comes towards you, needle poised, for one more blood draw.

At 6:30AM, a beam of sunlight finds it way down the air shaft and lights up the blinds, and the shadow of the blinds forms on the adjacent wall. This is a photographic composition with patterns, positive space, and negative space—and what else is an iPhone for? 

I pull out my iPhone and make the image. Then the beam of glorious light moves on and is gone, taking the notion of the dream world beyond the hospital with it.

Hospital Blinds © Harold Davis

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