I only paint them because they’re cheaper than models and they don’t move.`
~ Georgia O’keeffe
and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck.”
~ James Whitcomb Riley
everything looked familiar, the trees, the sun had roughly been in the same place last week. the way to the lake was just at the end of the path and i know this because something deep inside said so.
several ‘just at the end of the paths’ later i realised that i wasn’t seeing with my eyes what my mind was: the lake was genuinely not there and never was….quote source
first burn like a sun.
the quote’s from Doris Lessing, i guess that kinda makes me a dummy and that’s ok.
poor guy. an exciting name like Publius Vergilius Maro gets vulgarly reduced to Virgil to what, simplify its pronunciation to the masses ?… anyhow, Publius the Poet wasn’t referring to some schmaltzy romanticism when he wrote that but was a deep understanding of one of the only real boundaries that nature on earth has to offer. shores, whether they be in fresh or salt, in still, flowing or seas are the demarcation point between us and them but its also where the two of us can meet as we’re both inextricably attracted to this boundary each one safely in our comfort zones. sometimes we mingle, sometimes we don’t and that’s just fine because something within told us to go there and we simply did what we where supposed to do.
meh… there i go doing exactly one of the things i dislike the most about contemporary photography and any kind of art in general. something i’ve (unsuccessfully) been (mildly) fighting against ever since i did photo school in 1982:
finding the need to put words to images where the image should tell the story on its own and whatever the viewer sees or not or feels or not is their own private business and not mine. besides, i’m a really shitty writer, i know it. it’s just not my thing and i definitely don’t enjoy it and it shows. i’ll try to not fall into that trap again so,
here’s a shore that had its own story to tell.