“But they’re photographs.”
“You could hear everything not in the picture. You could hear the death squads breathing at the edge of the frame.”
In the dark, standing at the doorway, Alexi said, “You stay up all night thinking about these things?”
“Rarely.”
“There’s a lot of anger there.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t keep you up at night?”
“Like I said: rarely.”
“What does? What keeps you up at night, then?”
“Me? Tones.”
“Tones … . Okay.”
“Tones. Tones, hues, tints. Balance. Saturation.” Vivienne was up pacing. “If the grey in the print I made was too icy, or too flat, not rich enough. If the black was too – how to say it – fat. If the black on the print blossomed and I didn’t want it to. How to turn a ripple so it whispers off the pic only in dog hearing. If the cheekbone on the woman is
