Essential Tagge

Bob Tagge reflected a great deal on the value and purpose of his collections. These are entries from his diaries, written between June 12 1979 and february 27 1980. Uncharacteristically, there is an almost three months gap in his usually extensive notes after february 28 1980.

Forms, Figures, Tables, Ideas.
All that happened once.

Difficult to think, given the absent wind in the picture.
When the lull inches across the afternoon and your lips don’t move any air about either.

The thought scares me, I try to comfort myself with what I know, but can’t find a single fact that brings relief. The photos still don’t convey anything of what continues to grow inside the lab technician.

Inside. To determine where there’s growth, see where the leaves darken the garden, see where the explanation lingers in our minds.
Tables. In Jämtland, tables are helpless.

Our bodies are bothering us. A great tiredness sits in our joints.
I had tried it without Geum urbanum L., for Sara Lisa, before I turned into winter.

To turn. Count all the other plants as well. Run through everything once more when things don’t fit. Repress the urge to cut everything down.

All that happened once.
It’s indescribably cold. All the blood has been drained away to warm up the ideas.
The way lungs whistle, the trains, how the tables have reached an old toy, longing for growth.

Growth as a principle. Growth counter to these plants. A cloudless sky.
Square metres filled with forms, figures, women, ideas. And plant tables.

You say something that undermines the idea of growth, if I imagine it correctly.
If I imagine it being the same scenes, the same taste for the vernacular.
The tables are unbearably lonely.

To say more about that, but then die out.

You should be glad when it stops.

Of course all things are talking about themselves. The names that ramify have
other references. The country road does its dusty things in summer.

Today is Monday and has the feeling of a Monday.