Testifying, 2020, Archival Digital Print
In watching these tech men as they deny their broad powers over our lives, I noted that Zuckerberg is like Jared and Ivanka Kushner. All three have that weird peeled skin. Their faces are seamless poured plastic, poreless, hairless and so smooth one expects they would be cold to the touch.
Feeder with Icicles, 2020, Archival Digital Print
I repeat myself: Drawing is the basis of it all.
The first impulse of the mind, it is where it begins. That very first spark of an idea. Not only does it show what one sees but it orders the experience. This photograph taken this morning, doesn’t exist without my experience as an artist who draws. I frame the image in the camera; it is rarely changed in the processing. That is drawing. The division of space within the bounds of the edge.
Geese, Corn, 2019, Archival Digital Print
Here they are, my marvelous Geese, sharing some ears of fresh corn. It is the last of the local corn, and along with the local tomatoes always a bittersweet time knowing we must wait a year until the next crop of deliciousness comes around. Seasonal foods, however, make so much sense as we settle into Nature’s rhythm.
I continue to work on linocuts, cut and edit, proof and then move onto the next one. During the winter I think I’ll start to edition them. For now, though, I want to make as many new images as I can.
Nasturtium, 2019, Archival Digital Print
The eternal dynamic between The Light and The Darkness gives us photography in its original form. What plays out in black and white is supple and ingenious given its limits. It is the metaphor for being. The life force, the death force. One is either a cynic or has faith. The cynic sees the darkness growing; those of faith celebrate the light of a single candle. I have known many who only believe that the darkness will win. They carry it in their very beings. They find evidence of it everywhere and of course attract those experiences to them. Those of faith, and here I don’t mean religious faith but faith in the good, the beautiful, the positive, see it differently. How we choose to make our own reality is the story of our lives.
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.
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 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.
Power, 2018, Archival Digital Print
I notice the in-between periods when light first comes up and recedes, dawn and dusk. These are times that have long attracted me but probably because of the change in seasons and accompanying time change I am more alert to them.