La Macchina Fotografica

The sky is the most ephemeral of things. A masterpiece of abstraction that is ever changing, each iteration is achingly short-lived. We are drawn to behold a particular moment of sky precisely because we know it won’t last. We so want to grasp at it and to keep it, but, alas, it cannot and will not stay for us.

As children we are drawn to clouds. We lay on backs and looked up towards the sky, trying to find form in its whimsical canvas. Who hasn’t seen a duck or a witch or fairy princess within a billowing, summer cloud? As adults we tend to save our sky moments for only the most dramatic of events: gargantuan storms and gaudy sunsets. Yet the quotidian expressions of sky are there for us, waiting for the time when we come home and rediscover the present moment in everything. Photography is most useful in this rediscovery.

In 1925 Alfred Stieglitz began his Equivalents series of abstract cloud photographs. Wanting to free his work from inane observations on the literal content of his images, he looked to the sky and found a completely accessible form of abstract expression. He would work on the series until 1934, continually striving to marry technical perfection with artistic vision.

…to show that (the success of) my photographs (was) not due to subject matter—not to special trees or faces, or interiors, to special privileges – clouds were there for everyone…
Alfred Stieglitz, on his Equivalents series

Today, this body of work is recognized as the first to explore photography as an abstract art form. Stieglitz gave all of us the freedom to make photographs of “nothing” and make them into art. On this day before Thanksgiving, I give thanks to Alfred Stieglitz and what he gave to me and to all other fellow photographers and artists.

Sometimes I get sick of the literal images of this or that. As a visual artist I am bombarded with images. Like listening to the lyrics of a ponderous song one more time, my mind gets heavy with content. That is why we have improvisation. That is why we have jazz. That’s why visual artists have abstraction.

All other sentient beings on this planet go about their business without the heady weight of the human mind. And they do just fine. There is a dance to life, a flight of weightlessness. Yet, we humans seem to be getting more and more trapped within the literal. Just look at the faces of those using their cell phones—and everybody these days is using a cell phone. It all seems so serious. “Buy!” “Sell!” “How could he do this to me?” The details of life are killing us.

It makes me want to scribble. I remember, as a small boy, when scribbling was okay. It was permitted. Then, at some point, teachers would get mad when we scribbled. “You’re too old to scribble. Make something nice!” So we all made pretty pictures that were understandable to the grammar school teachers. They needed something concrete, something literal. They were adults and they were serious. Make something nice.

I think all adults should scribble. And doodle. And make a mess. Whatever happened to the notion of carefree play? I’d like to go back to my first-grade teacher in my Way Back Machine and say, “Miss Boney, I think scribbling would be good for you. You haven’t been smiling lately and, quite frankly, the class is being affected by your bad humor. Would you like some crayons?”