Monday, January 20, 2003
"trying to decode the stream of little signals in his ever-changing expressions."
There is nothing quite like this, is there? If one were to attempt to capture the protean flicker of this "code" in words, one would quickly find there are not enough words, certainly none that fit the completely off-the-wall minglings of distinct expressions that we're used to keeping in separate, neat compartments - yawns over here, smiles over there, passionate representations of tearful suffering somewhere else. So what do we make of those moments when, from the serenity of an open gaze, there is a procession of half smiles, when the lips on one side curl into what we can only interpret as the signal of some inside joke to which we never will be privy, suddenly convulsing into the furrowed brow of pain, the reddened face tightly contorted into fretful anguish, propelling parental units to rush to see what is the matter, only to find the screwed-up little visage already dissolving into the slackest of yawns before relaxing into longeurs richly conveyed by a heavy-lidded air of seen-it-all ennui?