Monday, January 22, 2018
It’s good. I can see that.
The lines are there. So are the composition, saturated palette and light. The filmy Christmas lights hung on the awning add a bit of whimsy - I could go as far as to say light irony - to the photograph. This keeps it from being too precious, too conventional, too full of itself. The rest of it is just the right kind of majestic.
Everything that years of working, failing, then trying again and succeeding are there.
This could be a welcome addition to my series.
I don’t feel the way I should about it. There’s no quickened heartbeat, crack of the bat against the ball and powerful arc signaling a home run. There’s no thrill in having captured it.
Like everybody, I spend my days in compromise. Maybe I cut a corner here, stay longer than I want, say yes when I mean no, exert willpower. My life is good. None of it is over my head. Not really.
But with photography, I’ve got to be all the way in. It gets to have my whole heart. If there is exactitude with love then here is where that is.
With this I get to have the orchestra, the breathlessness, the purity.
So I go ahead and delete it. I don’t regret it. Soon after, I don’t think about this image anymore. It’s stunning how quickly that happens.
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Monday, January 15, 2018
I ask you a question.
Your reply is short. You smile politely. It is clear you consider this query answered. It’s a curt sentence, but a sentence nonetheless. I have to admit that.
The air is thin in here now.
Dismissive, I say to myself.
I watch you thinking. Then you decide to elaborate.
You say some more. You become animated. It’s like you went from black and white to color. I feel my own color returning.
Not dismissive, I say to myself.
From the archives:
The High Cost Of Being Me
The Best Thing Someone Never Said to Me