Shadows
At first, I did not see them. Everything else had so much more reality and colour: the sun, the sky, the trees; even the half buried grasses from which they leaned looked solider, dead as they were.
Shadows are no things, poised between presence and absence, an exercise in distance. And impermanence. An existence at the mercy of clouds, of winds, of passing animals: what if a rabbit eats the grass? what if a coyote rolls in the snow and disturbs the (...)
The innards of winter
I was attempting pictures of snow on an old wooden fence. It was not going well. All I reached was the surface, and it had been done before. Nothing is more flat than a rehashed picture.
I have a trick: when I feel stuck in superficiality, when my eyes fail to see poetry, I kneel on the ground and scan a few feet of my surroundings through the macro lens.
I noticed a place where the surface was gone. A sort of hollow. A gateway. We (...)
Saguaro
There is winter and winter. January in southern Arizona would make an excellent May in Ontario. Which does not mean that life has it easier there. As much creativity is required to survive the Tucson summer as to outlive the Canadian winter. Amazing life forms. The saguaro cactus left me speechless. Prickly, intensely phallic in its youth, it matures into a giant of contemplation, arms raised night and day towards the beyond. Sober, a few drops of night (...)
Winter ruminations (1)
Snow covers the land and its cadavers. A shroud of utter simplicity, white on white. Lines appear, and disappear on a whim of the wind. No thing. Then, at the bend of a trail, clinging to cedars, unexpected, nuggets of ice born of the storm. Diamonds in the woods. Inside, there are frozen clouds of unnamed promises. They dance me. This will last, the immobile whirling of the world (see "white on white, lines" and "diamonds in the woods", two new series (...)
Why take pictures?
She is about to leave home for good. On the verge of tears. She has gathered the whole family on the front porch for a picture, something she can keep with her. "You cannot take a picture of this," her brother says, "it's gone already."
Am I doing photography to give permanence to that which has none? Is it an attempt to stop the flow of time? This would be misguided. And ultimately useless. Time always wins in the end. Everything passes. It might be better, and (...)
Nature photography?
Photography is clear enough. But nature? What is "nature"? My dictionary says: "the world as it exists without human beings or civilization". All right: an expressway is not nature. But what about the face of a man? Is it less "nature" than the face of, say, a vulture? And how much in the world has not been shaped, at least to some degree, by (...)
Winter antidote
Last weekend was mild (by Canadian standards). A tease, because we know what's coming. The trees are bare. Tense and taunt, arched against what's coming. The garden is dead, or gone underground. The sky is grey. Nature knows. Everything unessential has been shed, the way sinking sailors throw bulk overboard. Winter is violent, and unfair, and long. Like death. By the end of it, I will have almost forgotten the taste of life. This is why, in November, I need to look at images of spring, images (...)
After nine months...
It looks like this is it! The gestation of this website took almost the usual nine months. Now, it is going public, and I feel nervous. Until now, these pictures were just looked at by me and a handful of chosen friends, I controlled them. Now, they have a life of their own. Strangers will color them with other dreams, place them among other fears and yearnings. Who knows what the images will say, or hide? But beauty remains.
