“They have moved me to another cell. In this one, lying on my back, I can see the sky, and there is nothing else to see. All my time is spent in watching the slowly changing colors of the sky, as day moves on to night. I put my hands behind my head, gaze up, and wait.”

                                   The Stranger, Albert Camus 1942

Artist Statement

I remember this being a strange little book back then and it still is now.  I wouldn’t consider it an exciting read but I would consider it a very provoking read.  Similar feelings reading it once again.  The remorseless sun always a  factor.  The detachment from everything – marriage if it is convenient, murder just kind of happens, why accept God towards one’s end – anything after death is probably no different from anything else.  Meursault’s indifference to life leads him to this prison cell.  Prison is no different than anything else.  It does protect him from the outside sun and the outside people.   Human life is just that and no more.  Even from a prison cell.  Although after being tossed into a prison cell, I find it hard to understand the apathy.  (Especially when someone else has your freedom in their hands and they’re joking whether to put you in with the women or the men because your hair is too long.  Maybe they’ll just cut it.)  Yeah, a strange little book.   December 2014


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