'We were talking horses for courses, last time, I seem to recall,' trying to breathe through her mouth as she spoke, while momentarily regretting her nicotine addiction. Her laugh was becoming a death rattle.
He tossed his head and brayed. Animal, she thought, while assuming his neigh must be an affirmation, a confirmation, of her initial assertion. (The thing that distinguishes Man from Beast is language. He was doing his best, all things considered.)
'So now it's time to talk noemes,' she continued.
'Gnomes?'
'Yes, noemes. Photography's noeme to be precise. If we're to revalidate that old horse we need to understand photography's noeme.'
'Does photography have a gnome?' he asked.
'Well, yes, according to Barthes at least. Yes, of course,' she reiterated forcefully. 'Do you need me to elucidate? Throw light on the situation. Have you not read the book?'
'Baths? I thought we were talking plastic figurines. Miniature men with fishing rods and red hats?'
'Well, it's possible that some fly-fishers got fixated on Barthes and became photographers. He uses the term 'metaphoric' after all, and what is art photography but a metaphor for something else? And, why not a metaphor for fly-fishing; hours spent in absent-minded navel-gazing and hopeful anticipation only to return home with nothing but an old boot dredged from the mud and silt of a cloudy river bed? But I'm not sure where the red hat comes in to it, if I'm brutally honest.'
'My giddy aunt,' he hissed, giddying up and baring his top lip to reveal his gums. 'What are you talking about now? Come on, I want it straight from the horse's mouth. What have flies got to do with photography's gnomes? Or baths, for that matter?'
'Apart from that one stuck in amber? I mean the fly, not the bath. A lovely analogy for the photographic medium, isn't it just? Now, let me think, now let me see.'
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