Fulton Street view of World Trade Center: New York City
“Come a little closer
Hear what I have to say,“
“When we were strangers
I watched you from afar,”
Neil Young
A Diamond to Touch: The intersection of seeing and touching a moment:
I stand alone: My mind inside my eyes: Camera in hand; I dance; I dance something differently; I mimic a bit of the old “soft shoe”- - not Astaire, more Chaplin with a lilt in my gait: The moment is happily zany: I defeat life’s heinous nightmares: I listen beyond the moment: The city awaits:
I wander: My mind wanders: I pace down alleyways, darkened streets and across prairie lands: There is always a better view: So many people, so many animals, so much natural life and never enough:
Photography is more than a moment: Photography is sort of an amber shade of nirvana: Nirvana is merely an extreme destination to re-invent a comfort factor: a pillowed fusion where I can see as much as I need to rest my eyes: The city awaits.
I bend from a great height to something less below; The pose textured like a euphoric hallucinogenic. Imagine moving to pet a black panther- - or bend to kiss a rose. Fangs and thorns will never appear- -euphoria remains: Reality raises its eyes: Architecture enjoins both reality and euphoria- -The visual experience tactility remains: The touch; stones, metals and more become a tactile textured memory in my hands:
St. Louis CemeteryNo.1: New Orleans
Sometimes I am like a starving raptor standing alone, anticipating a near to be - - capture: Today I am begging to imagine a tomorrow, find a new gear to advance the identity in my pictures: “What does the Hope Diamond feel like”. If I cannot feel, I can dream. Geerat Vermeij, the blind evolutionary biologist, (whom I have photographed) taught me that: He educated and reminded me that as he once stood on the shore of a new found coastline- - almost anything he could imagine, may be real.
Those who can not get close but insert their eyes into the materials of beauty are a rare breed: To be transported through time by the simplicity of a caressing a new found object of beauty? I can just about hear Keats: “Ode…”: I imagine what the experience must make for the photograph about to be… I with a bit of a wisp in hand touch not Egypt, Brazil and continents- - I touch what Vasari may have written about- -the materials that Brunelleschi, da Vinci, and later Corbusier and Oscar Niemeyer summoned towards their destiny’s.
Interior Art: Museum of Modern Art
My 365 days begin with innate visual understanding, imagine my camera sees. Massive illusions pose and posture in my cities: The photographs about to be realized- -shape shift before I see what I beg to touch:
My days begin and end with camera in tow: The high bar is seen raised daily possibly because of a man named- - Marcel Proust . “In Search of Lost Time” or “Remembrance of Things Past”, whichever you prefer has always compelled or forced (whichever you prefer) to guide my eyes to more than I can fathomly see: I round the cities on all sorts of wheels hoping to either see more or merely stand before: I am equally calm and pleading:
I make a photograph today to share tomorrow- -tomorrow I share the photograph about my yesterday: My past was …: If you may imagine- - has seen decades, centuries and millenniums. They are not mine, but… partially Proust’s. They are frames from what remains- -my days and before: They are my illogical life and death …I try to search for new and remember old frames from when…Every frame I have captured is uniquely hinged to a beautiful daily demise, but mine.
A unique mix and match of three London textures center weighted by Architect Renzo Piano’s “The Shard”