TockTock Free Ranging in the Plant Shed, 2018, Archival Digital Print
There is reassurance in the turning of the wheel and in spite of the things that seem disruptive, each settles in and is absorbed as life continues, the sun rises and travels through the sky and sets in the west only to rise again into our eternity. Maybe not all of eternity but certainly in ours, the life of a mite relative to all time.
My new boy TickTock escaped his crate when I brought him home from a Connecticut farm and is free-ranging in the plant shed. My confidence in being able to catch any living bird has been challenged by this fast and beautiful boy. I keep telling him about the six hens who await his morning song and beautiful feathers but TickTock wants none of it. He’d rather perch and poop on my washing machine.
Sunday Morning Convocation, 2018, Archival Digital Print
Photography as a valid member of the Fine Arts has always been problematic. What is there is there which means that the nuance and encapsulated time compression of Painting doesn’t hold the energy of a masterpiece or if it does, not in the same way. Photography is nonetheless a thrilling medium capable of both the outlandish and the sublime. The recent visit to my yard by a Bear set off ideas and potential events. I was trying to get the feel of a Bruegel.
Feeder, Lawn, Bear, 2018, Archival Digital Print
This huge fellow visited my front lawn on Tuesday morning around nine. He was only interested in bird seed and decimated the feeders. I was sitting on the back porch steps when he arrived in his black-hole black, a darkness I have never seen on an animal before and his huge brown snout. What good luck to see him so close! After thirty minutes of looking around he wandered away.
The Back of the Rose at Dusk, 2018, Archival Digital Print
This has been a spectacular week in the Hudson Valley. The endless rains have stopped though it is still moist, the temperatures are comfortable and the foliage lush. Even the young Hawks are less noisy as they learn to hunt on their own. I put the first nest box in with the hens last night. It was immediately popular. They know what to do. I am learning a lot and these new experiences feed my imagination and sense of wonder at the bounty of the world. There’s always too much to do, too little time and without sounding sugary I feel as if I live in an unending transcendental experience. I do not understand how I got here but know it was destiny not mere chance.
The Pond at Dusk, 2018, Archival Digital Print
Tinted photographs have appealed to me since I first tried my hand at making them. I was a child in a family with cameras. Our darkroom was on the third floor of the house, a long climb for me. The fresh prints would come into the dining room after a session (sweltering up there in the summer with no air conditioning) and we’d all look them over. My mother, a trained painter, was the prime mover in coloring them. We had a big set of Marshall’s. Those tiny metal tubes were precious jewels in comparison to the standard tube of paint. I applied the tints with Q-Tips and cotton balls. My touch was awkward and the process required patience for the subtle effect it produced. Too much for an eight year-old.
The effect still appeals to me. Using digital media the work is done with the software. Taken yesterday, the pond in the waning late light of early evening — I write “magical” too much — but it was just that. This moment needed that haze of green accompanying the black and white underneath.
Fresh Local Corn with a Side of Polenta, 2018, Archival Digital Print
The girls are eager for fresh corn; not so much about cooked polenta. I try various foods to see what they prefer. It’s clear. They see the corn arrive with me and start making happy sounds — not clucks but other little sounds of pleasure in their throats. Watermelon is a second on their goodie list.
The Front Porch, 2018, Archival Digital Print
and last night we had soft rains which freshened the air and made everything glisten this morning. I like to the watch the vines take over and cover everything especially the chair on the left which is almost unseen now covered in lush vines and flowers. It is a good time to read Somerset Maugham’s short stories of the tropics and savor the generosity of Nature.
The Pleasure of Chaos, 2018, Archival Digital Print
The question for all of us is how we give our gifts back. It is the sole reason we are here and while it would seem an easy mission, in truth, for many, a clear sense of purpose is never formed out of the fog of being. There are always diversionary activities, and with enough of them one can fill up a life. But to what end? If we aren’t aware of gifts then we cannot discover our purpose and we will never live fully.
The girls are growing up, 2018, Archival Digital Print
In a matter of hours, from the morning feed until the evening one, the six Claras went from adolescent chicks with pale beige feathers and lots of down showing to young hens with russet feathers, real chicken tails and the beginnings of combs. Now I wish I had been in there all day and snapped a photo once an hour. What a transformation as life does its thing.