The very nature of photography is slicing time. Photographs are based on exposure to light, be it film or sensor and usually lasting only a fraction of a second. But in that unique moment, magic is made, never to be repeated, for seasons change, expressions are different, and nothing is static. It’s just a click, but one of endless boundaries and imagination, pausing time, and never to be captured again.
Another thing I did during Covid was photograph front and backyard plants. My favorite is the cactus. There is a delicately curved edge ending with a harsh thorny point. The image reminds me of flames.
Some things are universal like how children defy their parents. This argument had something to do with not wanting to go to the bathroom. The interaction is between the mother and child and not the photographer. It's a more voyeuristic look at the world, witnessing a private moment without their knowledge.
I'm still trying to figure out this image. Many times we are pulled into one of our images not knowing why. That is when it's important to ask yourself the 'why.' To try to understand what it is that excites us. Why do we keep coming back to it? As for this image, I like its simplicity, mystery, and lighting. It's also the splash of color in the otherwise monochromatic scene. Why is the window painted? What lies inside the building? A month from now, I may see the image differently.
Another image from Death Valley. The place offers an array of forms, shapes, and unusual lighting as shown in this image. Normally, I like to render Death Vally in black and white. When I saw this image in color I knew it had to be rendered in color. There is something divine I feel about this image.
I'm always drawn to cacti. I love the way light plays with the plants the forms, and distinct lines and curves.
Often times I'm not sure about an image. I will print work and 'live' with it, coming back over and over, and reassessing it. This image is one of those that I am uncertain about. I'm drawn to the metaphor I see - broken, destroyed, dead, etc. It's the haunting nature that keeps pulling me back into the image. I'm still living with it.
Taken at Zabriskie Point, Death Valley. It's a popular place to photograph, especially at sunset. I am always amazed when I go there. The place is inundated with photographers capturing the sunset. Nearly all of them leave after the sun has set. For me, this is the best time to photograph this remarkable area. The light has become diffused, making the hills serene and soft.
I have no idea why the bikes are parked this way. I have traveled to Vietnam five times starting in 1996. Since then, Vietnam's economy has exponentially grown. In '96 most Vietnamese road bicycles and cyclos. Over the years, bikes were replaced with motorbikes, then motorcycles, and now motorcycles and cars. And cyclos have been relegated to the tourist. This image reminded me of my first time in Vietnam. This could very well be a cemetery of history from a time when the country was transitioning from a war-torn nation to a major economic center in Southeast Asia.
In the aftermath of the American War on Vietnam, the phoenix has risen. This is the horizon of Saigon's, progressive economy.
Who knows the miles this man has endured Did he fight for the North or the South? Does it matter? He is of the age of someone who most likely fought in the American War in Vietnam. Face, hands, and feet weathered by war, but with a content look of acquiescence and content. Like someone who witnessed the worse and found solace in the outcome.
I'm attracted to doors, windows, and chairs because they represent passages and where people are or have been. Most artists title their work. I don't because it causes the viewer to focus on the title and not the image. Most would title this "Blue Chair." But isn't that obvious? I hope this image is more than the blue chair. It should be about the isolation, the mystery of why or what this scene is about. Also, the disjoint of a metal modern chair with wooden tables. Old vs. new. The what, the why, the who, and even the when.
Try crossing a street in Hanoi during the day for the first time. It's mayhem. For the locals and seasoned foreigners, they will tell you to simply walk across the road at a predictable pace. Do not stop. Do not run. Motobikes, motorcycles, and cars will drive around you like Moses parting the sea. Blurring the image is my interpretation of the chaotic nature of Vietnam's city streets.
The photo was taken in Golden Gate Park not far from the Academy of Science, where they have the African Room featuring many dioramas of African animals. When I captured the blue heron, it reminded me of the dioramas. The bird laid perfectly still, transfixed on a meal. Many wildlife photos are record shots. I was hoping to transform the scene from its literalness to something more interpretive and unusual.
This self-portrait was taken during Covid in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. There is a feeling of loneliness and sadness in the image. The tunnel makes it more mysterious and the "I Am," written on each stair, reminds me of Descartes's famous quote "I think, therefore I am." The image is a statement about the isolation and reflection everyone experienced during Covid.
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)