52 Weeks Photography Project
May Edition
No.-18 Roots
Our ancestors are our roots. This photo from c1912 of my Grandmother carries in it a love for a woman I never knew.
I was talking with a friend the other day about what makes people “Good.” Where is the human source of morality? He was able to simplify the source with a single word. God. He said he “found God.”
He asked me if I had “found God.” Oh fuck I said to myself, here we go, I’m about to enter a “God talk.”
Since we were just casually and newly acquainted, I really wanted to keep our personal beliefs (or lack of them) out of the relationship.
I was therefore surprised when I popped out my response. I said that I thought my moral code was somehow related to my ancestors.
And now, I think that answer may be true. Our ancestors tend to be remembered in a loving light. A certain deep respect for their ability to provide the roots of our very existence. Whether they were saints or sinners really doesn’t enter into the fact that they had a vision that gave us life. In this way gratitude can foster faith and hope. Some level of gratitude can foster respect, and respect is one of the roots of morality.
Who the hell got me off on this topic…oh yeah Rodrigo…I should have known.
№19 Twilight Zone
Rod Serling said, “the cruel indifference and implacability of fate, and the irony of poetic justice, were recurrent themes in my plots.”
This image is straight-out-of-camera.
S.O.O.C. imaging places emphasis on the fundamentals of camera adjustments. It’s a fun exercise, and I guess, it also reminds me of the early days of film.
We sure had to be careful when using light to paint on rolls of plastic.
I like to develop pictures. It takes me into myself and my world of possibilities. I really like possibilities. They sometimes surprise me but at every level they are an experiment in my own “development”.
You can therefore imagine my surprise when I was scrolling through my most recent, camera card.
I froze looking at this image, and I felt “the implacability of fate and the irony of poetic justice,” well sort of, and a supernatural (almost) presence. The computer screen held a shadow, a field of focus, a centralized force of some kind.
I’m usually not one to wander into the “twilight.” But I had taken pictures of gates and walls in Portugal, all afternoon, and I never saw any in-camera vignetting.
Further to the “cruel indifference and implacability of fate,” I retraced my travels, and tried as I might, I could not find that gate again.
I rest easier at night, alone in the dark, knowing that I surely missed the road of “the gate,” and I’m further convinced “it was just the light.”
My advice …don’t look at the image too long.
No.-20 Is There Anybody Out There?
I seldom stop at Garage Sales, but this time, a feeling drew me in. I stopped the car and wandered up the driveway, hands in pockets; a non-committed stance.
When I opened the box there appeared to be 3 or 4 hundred Kodak slides, and I thought why not? Previously, someone had bought the projector and declined the slides. Too bad, I found wonderous images.
I studied this Salt Flats image and began to imagine the thoughts of the characters.
The threesome on the left are very pleased to be here, and although there is very little shopping on this trip, they are feeling secure with their purses close at hand. The third friend is not really there but surely is felt in spirit.
There is a pensive traveller, who’s looking down, he’s probably wondering about his choice of foot wear.
And now, the lovely couple in the centre. She leans toward her distant and ephemeral friend, with whom she imagines to share the day.
But then I wonder is anybody’s really out there at all? This is in all probability a bus excursion, in which case the bus is the true experience.
Well maybe the fellow on the right, who is wondering just that, “Is There Anybody Out There.”
No.-21 Old School
It’s a frigid frosty Saturday morning. The sky held a promise of snow but the local ice sheet had remained clear throughout the night.
A parka underneath and a hockey sweater over the top, we’d all meet early at the rink, which was sometimes a lake, but more often a frozen river.
Sitting in a snowbank and tying frozen skates with stiff fingers is a permanent memory for me.
Teams were arranged more than chosen and rules for play were optional more than featured.
If we brought snacks I don’t remember, but arriving home, chilled to the bone at dusk, stands out.
Nowadays arenas are dominant, and hockey practice has become organized by adults.
Here’s to childhood freedom of disorganized Old School hockey. Long may it survive.
No.-22 Pretty In Pink
Pink is in itself a pretty colour.
According to surveys in Europe and the United States, pink is the colour most often associated with charm, politeness, sensitivity, tenderness, sweetness, childhood, femininity, and romance.
The whole Barbie thing is founded on the colour Pink. If you are quizzical go ahead and “internet” Barbie pink. I did, and was both over and underwhelmed.
Side note: Never use google as a verb. It is so prevalent that it hurts.
