Yesterday, in a coffee-stained manilla folder, I found an old personal essay. I almost posted it on this blog but I remained indecisive about the imagery with which to pair the words. Embedded in the text was a reference to red dust and that was the image I most wanted — little pyramids of red — but the dust in the story is red Virginia clay not dark Massachusetts soil. I tried photographing mounds of smoky paprika but the imagery just didn’t work.
I then tried photographing blue sea glass. In the text there are many references to that color. There is even a blue glass in the essay but it is a drinking glass and has nothing to do with the sea. So, no.
The essay is about family and that universal topic of death and the revelations made soon after and then long after the passing of loved ones. I considered uploading this portrait of Steve. He is part of my family now. Maybe I could make him a bridge between past and present? In the end, I decide that wouldn’t work either. He is not mentioned in the essay at all as it currently exists. The key subjects of the text, my parents, passed away before meeting him. He often tells me that he wishes that fact were not so.
As the day grew long, I began to wonder about the appropriateness of posting the text at all with or without complementary images. An unfinished essay, without direction, perhaps something written years ago just to help me let go? Not a sad piece, just reflective, but would anyone want to read such stuff? I kept staring at the words. Not every passage worked but some did seem like diamonds in the rough. Maybe. In the end I decided to post the ice picture, little B-612 (by the way no ice on the windows today), and to commit to continue working on the essay. I will keep it out in the light and we’ll see what emerges this year.
Clearly, I don’t live in the most insulated house in the world.
But if I did, I don’t know how I would experience this beauty to be found on windows first thing in the morning.
Of course, as I write these words, I am reminded of folks who say that I tend to find the bright side of any situation.
But I wasn’t trying to come to terms with the cold this morning as I wandered from window to window. I reflected on the fact that different windows had different displays of ice from individual crystals to long glittering strands to sheets of ice thinly covering whole window panes.
The most surprising find of the morning was the rainbow. I stood next to an especially patterned window just as the light shifted or I shifted or whatever … all I know is I saw a rainbow and it was lovely. 😉
I have been photographing this African Violet since at least 2010. This past year, the plant grew spectacularly well. Mostly because I tucked it into a corner and let it be. Now at the start of this first full week of 2014, I photograph the plant again. It is an overcast day which is all the inspiration needed to pull out flashlights and let the artificial light play upon iridescent petals and leaves.
On New Year’s Eve, I chanced upon the PBS broadcast of Yo Yo Ma performing Azul with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. I felt frozen listening to the musicians and enraptured by the passion on Yo Yo Ma’s face. Later I learned in this program note of composer Osvaldo Golijov’s desire in developing this recently commissioned work for cello and orchestra to “recapture for the present that ability of the late Baroque composers to suspend time without stopping motion in their music …” A complicated piece to say the least. Time felt suspended for me on occasion. When you have a chance, give a listen and see what you experience. This link will take you to an actual video of the New York Philharmonic performance (Azul can be accessed at 14:33) or you can listen via the following Youtube video.
Thanks for viewing this blog and all of your wonderful comments. Best wishes to you and yours this day, and may you have a Happy New Year filled with brightness.
Here I am in 1996 standing by a creek in Missoula, Montana. At the time I worked with a Boston-based nonprofit conducting sustainability-themed workshops for universities. For a number of years, I was able to travel around the country interacting with people of all ages and cultures. I was able to view landscapes like this that I’d read about but wasn’t sure I’d ever see in person. Few photographs did I take but I loved to tell stories of the places I’d visited with family and friends, in letters and by phone. In 2014, I hope to do more writing and storytelling about people and places and be more strategic with my photography. Meanwhile, as the year wraps up, here is a link to one of the most moving sets of images on the web — The New York Times 2013 Year in Pictures — and a page of wonderfully orchestrated New York Times Op-Docs.
As I post this picture taken yesterday of ice on a Belle Isle trail, I look out the kitchen window and view light dancing upon water. Not river or pond water but water pooling upon asphalt. Heavy rains in New England at the moment, and the light that shines down is street and car lights. Red, gold, green. In this photo, the sun was setting and illuminating wonderful patterns at my feet of water cradling rocks and broken glass and bits of grass.
Words + Images 