"let me tell you...how to do it from the beginningfirst notice everything: the stain on the wallpaper of the vacant house... miss nothing. memorize it. you cannot twist the fact you do not know."
- miller williams
life has been loud and confusing, and full of piles and detritus and puzzles to solve. when i am really listening, eyes open, ears to the ground, i get to hear the patterns, i love to find the order. sometimes, i start to feel my own voice rise up. i have missed that too much. i have been paying attention to too many wrong things with no truth attached. looking at pictures that blur together instead of making my own. i am guessing too many of us are.
so much of making art is about clearing the kind of clean and well lit space about which hemingway wrote. it is living in a place with enough attentiveness to have stories invite themselves in. about not just talking, but listening, hard and long and without disruption. about the way light can show you the way to a person's soul. two pairs of eyes, one lens, everything but simple, forever.
my art and my life dance together every day. and every day, i try to think harder about the WHY. and i find myself so close to where i was when i first felt a camera in my hands. when i pick it up, i want to make the picture count, i want to give my daughter a piece of herself, to which to refer when waves may test her balance, i want to represent the love that swells in waves inside me. i want to see the way we feel about each other. i want to clear the slate and make it pure, the way it exists to me, as soul. and film makes the soul of the moment feel as real as it is, as we are. it lets me shape it into something that lives in the world, that i can almost hold in my hands.
my little boy was impassioned, in the back seat of the car last week, face red and voice raised, yelling about the color blue. the way he owned it. because he loved it. "you NO love blue, I love blue!" and my daughter came back, with the kind of grace she always manages, "there is enough blue for everyone. the sky is blue and it goes on forever.” and how that struck me. there is enough blue, there is enough sky for every one of us. there are enough moments of inspiration. they are infinite. the well is not a collective one. each person is a direct line to their own universe of stories, and still frames, and days in the most lovely, golden light. we all know depths it would be hard to describe to someone else. we all connect in a different, perfect way. the right portraits are pictures of all these things. they can be that one line in a book that we write down and remember forever. they are not part of a story, but a story in themselves. they are the listening, the time carved out, the respect, the distance. they are the dipping into that pure blue that is eternal.
(porta 400, tri-x 400/contax 645)