Cloud Sequence

Daily Practice 170/365

Title: "At the outer edge of the universe"

(click to view larger - recommended)

  

As overwhelming as it can sometimes be to think of something as immense as the universe, it does provide a nice counter-balance to the more prevalent me-me-me thinking. When we look at the sky, we see only the most infinitesimal fraction of the universe, yet on some days the view looks like a little tableau of what it must be like in very deep space. The universe is currently expanding, the rate of expansion is accelerating at a speed it is difficult for us to comprehend. Our little lives here on earth that seem stable and slow paced are an illusion in the grand scheme of things.

Daily Practice 169/365

Title: "Displaced, truncated oval reflection"

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It was late afternoon, and I was talking to a friend all the while noticing some beautiful shadows on the brick walk. They looked interesting as a subject for today's image, but by the time our far-ranging and very interesting conversation was at an end, the shadows had moved on. And then I saw this wonderfully vivid reflection of a glass table top against the fence. As one door closes.....another opens as they say, although the key is to be receptive to the new opportunities. I love the quality of the reflected light and the interrupted oval shape, even though the table top is round. So while this is a "straight, unmanipulated" image that fulfills the creed of some photographers that an image should show the "truth", none the less, the reflection itself is a distortion of the subject viewed indirectly.

Daily Practice 168/365

Title: "Hummingbird breaths"

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I sit on the studio porch in the morning, reading, eating a little breakfast, enjoying the freshness of our cool spring. Now that the hanging baskets with fuchsia are up at each end of the overhanging roof, the hummingbird visits, wings beating furiously as he hovers and samples the nectar. But first he flies over in front of me, hovers for a few seconds in greeting, before sharing a peaceful breakfast routine with me.

Daily Practice 167/365

Title: "Delicate tokens of forgiveness"

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Today's daily practice was decidedly different. I was mowing the lawn when the lush greens and delicate flowers of this plant caught my eye. I immediately recognized this image as the one I would make for my daily practice. So most of the time was spent contemplating this small plant, ignoring the distractions of the many other, more dominant flowering plants in the garden. A solid commitment to making this one image. Is it an outstanding image of major impact? Of course not, but it commemorates and celebrates that lush green foliage against the dark earth, with the sincere offerings incumbent in the flowers.

Daily Practice 166/365

Title: "Love has abandoned this fearful, tearful heart"

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I have no idea how this image inspired a title that could just as easily work for a country song. But perhaps it's the fact that there's no artifice in the image - it's a straight-on study of line and tone as found in nature. Much like most country music is a straight-on discourse of the ups and downs of life. Many years ago when I first arrived in this idyllic little town, I was invited to join someone at a meeting of the local camera club. I should probably explain that our town is known for its gardens, and for it's attraction to the "nearly dead" (i.e. people in retirement). I vividly recall how one of the nice little old lady members was showing a fairly mundane flower macro  image, explaining how she had carefully used a tissue to remove some raindrops that would have ruined her perfect composition. It was at that point that I started wondering if there was a seedy side of town (not so much then, but readily found now) where I could make some shocking, gritty images as an antidote to this saccharine view of photography. And just for the record, there were plenty of nice little old men who had a similar religion when it came to making photographs.

Daily Practice 165/365

Title: "A single tear glistened on the crying rock"

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I'm re-reading a book titled "poemcrazy" by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge. In it, she writes about a reading she did at a university, where "I talked about my poems being messages from me to myself". I think this really speaks to the crux of what art-making is all about. I really consider my photographs to be messages that have a personal meaning for me. Without that deep connection, the work would seem contrived and soulless. Art is internal, it comes from within, comes from knowing something about oneself, and a willingness to learn even more.

  

Elsewhere, Wooldridge wrote "Sometimes we think poems need to be about important, dramatic moments. The events of our lives seem mundane. Often the small occasions in the front or backyard are the most magical. We just need to notice and then create a way to experience and enjoy this ordinary magic." To my mind, this is part of what a daily art practice is all about - raising our awareness of those small occasions, coming to see the beauty or intensity or emotion of the mundane events. I've written before about Jennifer Bartlett's year in France, where confronted by a rather mundane garden, she set herself a project to make images of that garden in as many different ways possible. In the book "The Accidental Masterpiece", Michael Kimmelman writes about Pierre Bonnard - the happenstance of his meeting his future wife Marthe in the street one day. Out of that single moment came a marriage to a woman who became reclusive and chronically ill, requiring considerable attention from Bonnard. And yet Bonnard went on to make the most compelling images from what was a very circumscribed life, precious messages to himself about that life of devotion to Marthe's care.

Today the tide was well out, and the wind was gusting strongly from the west. The sea was surging, the sun shining in a beautiful sky. Yet along the exposed shore, I came across this little quiet moment that seemed more compelling to me than all the big drama of sea, sky and wind.