Lee Ka-sing has titled this photograph Working on Sunday, and even the tripod, normally an instrument of rigid stance and handmaiden to photographic exactitude, has here taken on a gentle lunar fuzziness, a near malleability. You can almost feel its straining, in a half-hearted way, after after its expected rectitude. This is Sunday--I like to think of it as Sunday morning--which is a far more relaxed time than later the same day, when the urgencies and imperatives of Monday start creeping back into play. In fact, the phrase "Working on Sunday" seems almost oxymoronic. Surely Sunday--at least Sunday morning--is a time for dressing gowns, coffee, toast, fruit preserves, eggs maybe, the New York Times maybe (what's left of it), a comfortable cat or dog napping nearby maybe, a lick of jazz perhaps. When you work on a Sunday, especially in the morning, you rather feel as if you're getting away with something.
