Today on my photo walk I encountered a tall stand of wild fennel. The fennel was taller than I was so that made it magical. Upon discovering it, it immediately triggered that <em>feeling</em>. We all know it. It's that certain something felt in the gut that takes us to another state of being. It brings us back to the wide-eyed wonder of the world that was our universe when we were tiny. Tall grass will do this to you, tall fennel too. Corn fields in summer are just about perfect. When in the realm of the tall plants, the world is transformed into an enchanted forest.
Birds are one of my favorite subjects to photograph. I never tire of them. Some birds, I am certain, know that I am taking their picture. They stand and stare at me, meeting my gaze with their own. Sometimes they are quite patient, waiting until I exhaust my energy and creativity on them. A few let me get quite close. I met this fellow at Fort Cronkite in the Marin Headlands (just north of San Francisco). I crept up to him slowly. He was in no hurry to leave, watching me as intently as I was studying him.
I work a lot with old snapshots. Some are found and rescued. Others come from old family albums. Snapshots are pure magic, the essence of wizardry. They are windows into a world that does not quite exist. We were not born with the ability to see time in a frozen state. Yet, the snapshot stops everything forever, or at least until the photo disintegrates to dust.
This country does not value the artist. Once I was an business executive. Then I became an artist. The difference in how our society has responded to me is palpable. A few weeks ago, someone labeled me as “semi-retired.” Making art, to that person, was akin to playing golf. In his mind's eye I was amusing myself, keeping myself busy.
There is something about the slow decay of the material world that transforms most things into the sublime. The first scratch in a new piece of furniture is joined by a second. Over time it becomes patina. Refinish the antique and it loses its value.
"I was a shy kid. More often than not I walked around enveloped in my own universe, surrounded by adults who seemed gravely serious. The world beneath me seemed much more interesting than those towering towers of adult babel. So I stared at the ground a lot.
Some time ago I had this bright idea that I would make my photographs available as stock photography. These days, with sources like iStock, that's a relatively easy thing to do. What I didn't realize are the rules that restrict the kind of photos iStock (and I assume other agencies) is and is NOT interested in accepting.
Admittedly, I have an active imagination. Sometime around a year ago I was walking around my neighborhood with my camera and noticed that the street seemed to be a broad canvas of unseen artists. At that time, what caught my eye, was the sprayed lines and symbols that surveyors and utility repair people are always painting on the street. I don't recall such ubiquitous spraying back when I was younger. But the past decade or so the painting seems to change most every day.
Art and great cities have much in common. Of course, by definition, all great cities have great art, but that's not my point. It is how we *behold* them that matters. In order to be touched by cities and art we must allow them to become our own. They must enter us, to become part of us.
Yesterday I was thinking about the 4th of July which is pretty obvious since it was July 4th. Our little hamlet is the host of a parade and art fair every Independence Day. The town dresses up once a year, puts on a show for the day and then goes back to sleep again. This has been going on for as long as I can remember.
