A blog about photography & transformative art
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Every artist has periods of frenzied creativity, times when the work pours out faster than it can be processed. After such a period comes the inevitable, fallow gap of nothingness. One stares at a blank canvas, a blank piece of paper, a blank screen, a blank world. There simply isn't anything there.
Yesterday was dark. The sky was heavy with the rain season's last gasp. Soon the sky will turn blue and stay that way for months. For a person who likes the variety of weather, the last of the rain season makes me a bit sad.
I find a moment. My finger searches for the shutter release. My stomach flutters. My breath softens, I try not to shake. Something is happening that will never happen again. Ever. I need to get it. I need to get an image.
The human race is more connected than ever. Go to a bar on a Friday night and everyone is texting everyone else. The antennae are up. You can contact more people on the planet than ever before. That's not all. Soon, aliens from distant stars will be texting hot girls in bars. Single men of Planet Earth won't stand a chance. Already, the girls text one another across town when the guys start to bore them, about five minutes into most conversations. Oddly, the guys don't seem to mind. Maybe that's the problem.
It could not have been colder. Perhaps if one were to compare temperatures between here and elsewhere a clinical case could be made. But the fog of The Veneto had proven its infamous reputation. This was more than frosty, it was bone-chilling, joint-aching, shivering cold. It was a damp cold that went as deep as one can feel. I was miserable.
The dailiness of life has this hum to it. Like an old refrigerator on its last leg, it drowns out the nuances of life. Then the fridge finally dies and...quiet. Birds chirp, you can hear the breeze again. Turning off the electricity might be a prescription for sanity.
Several years ago I kept a diary about the calla lilies in our yard. I photographed them, drew them, and made paintings of them. The result was a series of photos and a collection of writings that I showed in an exhibit in a local gallery. While it was a rewarding experience, I got sick of calla lilies. It was like eating your favorite meal sixty days in a row. On day sixty the meal is no longer your favorite. Far from it.
I just finished a new gallery on my website entitled, Marin Shadows. The body of work has been emerging unconsciously, which I suppose means, I really can't explain it. It is the result of the mystery of creativity. If one truly lets go and allows the creative process to do work, unexpected things emerge. I never planned to photograph dark, dreamlike images of Marin landscape in black & white. It just happened. And right after I proclaimed, on this very blog, that I'd had enough of it, I found more to say, more to do, more images in my database that wanted to be shown the light of day. And so, on it goes.
The equinox has passed. As days lengthen into summer the light surrounds the house with its daily dance. Every room is a stage, each one having its hour of performance as the sun moves from spot to spot. No two days are ever alike. No two performances are the same. The only thing certain is the sun itself. It is impossible to escape the sun inside or out during its peak months. Why even try?
A walk to the bank—a transitory moment—on the way to somewhere else. Too much caffeine pumps my system with the adrenaline. The tingle of self-importance courses through my veins. Electronic bean-counters count their beans. Automatic digit counters lurch in the background, waiting to add late-pay penalties to everything I owe. I imagine little men peering over their reading glasses in disapproval. "Late?" they ask. They shake their head and get back to counting. Counting. Counting. Counting. I rush to get out the door to stay one step ahead of the system.
