So, who else is completely shot? Roasted slow, spinning over open flame and then twice baked in an oven or three. I am spent ash, fiery embers long sent to dust. A charcoal remembrance scribbled upon ever darkening cave walls of a collapsing mind. Once there was life here.
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For the first time in at least three years my urge to make more photographs—better photographs—is waxing. The call back to capture the beauty of our backyard grows louder with each passing day. My interest in this craft waned to its nadir this past spring, and I legit thought myself ready to hang ’em up. Hell, I thought giving up my gear to more appreciative hands may be the best way to move on. Instead I held on and secretly hoped for inspiration in some lesser explored corner in my mind.
Inspiration came, though not as altruistic as I would hope. Instead ego took the wheel; nothing like some wounded pride to get you back in the driver’s seat. Perhaps there is some ten year irony at work? Seeing it was something other than moral rectitude which first motivated my pursuit of this hobby a decade ago. Whatever the merits of the impetus the call back has me wanting more.
Considering the importance of growth and evolution I want to study further the execution of intentionally blurred photographs. Breaking down color and shape into more flowing forms. Using minimalist aspects to represent the glorious nature of our home turf. I have sprinkled motion blur shots like this into my landscape rotation over the years—now is the time to explore further this passion.
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July light fades a pink kiss goodbye. The worn one knows well not to believe the false promises softened in its pastel glow. Sirens of lies singing us onto the rocks of the forever young. Stay here forever and there will be no pain or woe. Life as it is with light moves on indifferent to any one plight or pleasure. For the Universal Powers have big work to do and none of it includes waiting on you.
We stand afield planted, seeded and watered to grow only to wear and wither in but an eye blink of Big Time. In our winking we open ourselves to the beauty of worlds both big and small. People, places, and things to make us whole and worth it. This warmth buzzes about in orbit to pollinate our lives with richness and love.
Then comes the crisis. The light fades stealing with it the freedom and innocence. It moves on unburdened as the oily peddler selling death in a bottle. Rooted the worn one wanes alone, naked and afraid.
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What of the caterpillar? The two act play in a life lived twice. First bounded to a potted dill long gone to seed. Nothing more to do than eat. Eat and pray—pray your striped camouflage is enough to ward off prey. Birds whiz hither and dither somehow tricked by the ruse or warned off by its bright colored reticulated pattern. Color often means danger in the many corners of the animal kingdom, though I’m not sure that is the case here.
Still I pause to wonder does she know what comes in act two? Should she endure to soon spool up into her silken cocoon to wait and to transform. A miraculous metamorphosis awaits. A death to one life followed by transformation and rebirth into another. Resurrection to new life. A wonder to behold.
How would such a complete change of our physical being affect our lives and our self-awareness? What would it mean to become so fully remade? What then would it mean to be human? What then would the caterpillar think of us?
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This corner of the internet has been quiet, eh? Rest assured all the noise has moved inside my head. Photographs have been hard to come by, and if I’m honest, the drive to make them has moved on. In short: this decade long hobby is down to fumes.
There’s little sense in making proclamations—declaring this experiment in creativity over. With luck a new spark will fire tomorrow. Yet I am willing to share my total uncertainty over how often I’ll foist the camera moving forward. I’m grateful to how much this unexpected hobby has given me these past 10 years. A near unbroken space of growth and calm. A cloistered enclave where my hamster wheel brain ceases its captured spin. Talk about a safe space.
That’s all gone now. What once restored life now saps strength. What once vented furious forces now yields to tectonic mountains of growing anxiety. There’s no more ensconced glacier of solitude to wear down the surging crags of my mind.
And still, may tomorrow bring with it the surprise of good fortune to turn everything around.
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may peonies spring
bright puffs to float you away
to the home right here
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flowering lilac
our fragrant welcome to spring
atonement breathing
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The April Fool tramples his path
Running roughshod through this world
Joyous conceit
Close-minded and haughtily assured
Gilded, unperturbed
Dazzled masses froth over such trappings
The success, the power, the sprawling paper card manse propped up on the hill
How do I get mine?
Follow the April Fool
For he knows not he knows nothing
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Minimalism with intentional hand made motion blur. I love executing this kind of photograph. Combining a handheld approach with a smooth, confident motion panning from left to right into the sunset. It is much more involved than my typical tripod landscape. The latter leaving me with the sole task of pressing the shutter once I have framed my shot. Meanwhile this technique is visceral, taking me much closer to my own work. Involving me the way a baker kneads the bread—the hands are in there. Kneading it. Working it. Making it. Body, mind, and skill all coming together to produce something personal, something special. This process alone creates an intimacy with the work, and it shows through in the result. Here I am actually creating a thing with my hands. The sea moves right here in my palms.
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