A moment, a glance, and all time stops, Time stops for this moment to understand. Within this same moment is another time, A childhood of holiday memories Filling the air around this face: Christmas holidays, Climbing on the old feeder, Descending into the cellar world, Wading, empty-hooked, in a pond While his dad pulled in his 30th fish. I am not yet old, Yet he, younger than I, Already is gone. He knew how to live, He knew important deeds: To look you in the eye, Say “I love you” with goodbye. And here he looks again at me from…
Reaching to the sky to be accepted, To be close to the one he so loves. Nothing wrong, no comfort needed, Just to touch, to be near. Mother’s open arms reach to hold him, Straining to bear him aloft. Everything right, love freely given, Just to touch one so dear.
Freely you gave your home Relying on hospitality rather than money to feed the stranger. Ordering the peace of the home Manfully establishing stability. Could you have been the father I did not expect, Replacing the distance of my own? All the rough edges on the surface Purposefully obscuring the gentle interior. Putting forth a good word, Enjoined to your way of love, Rejoicing, we honor your memory.
I’ve carried brotherly concern and care Like leaden weights to hold me to the earth For fear the whys would draw me to the clouds, Ever to float, no bearings for to guide. I’ve carried brotherly concern and care Not knowing how to reassure that I Have always held the selfsame anchor fast, Yet that, for harbor true, will I vouchsafe. I’ve carried brotherly concern and care, The first among us guiding silently Whereto, that first day, in our final home He gently tread, estranged from worldly cares. I’ve carried brotherly concern and care Concern extending empty hands to give,…
See how the grass stands, grown, without a roof, Four patches kept from sun to make them thrive, Their tires gone, yet imprints left in life Give ears to hear their presence clearly move. ‘Tis from a different time and now dull red, Its former brilliance faded through long wear; Though steering wheel and handles used till bare, Tires run long miles to change have often led. Not left to rot, a remnant of excess, Not rightly called antique, as some would say, But centered to the straight and narrow way. Last of a cohort, made for nothing less Than…
I was clicking away some pinata-punishing photos at a birthday party for a friend when I heard a disturbing sound from my camera. Thinking the shutter may have folded, I figured I was holding a fancy paperweight anyway, so I tried shooting again: the viewfinder went black. Interesting. I shot again: the viewfinder went half black. I realized my mirror had issues; not the shutter.
There is a difference. The workshop I am starting up today is not “basic photography”, in the sense of photography for just beginners. Rather, if the word “basic” must be used to describe it, it is the “basics of photography”, in the sense that we may already be highly creative, have an excellent eye for the image we want, and take beautiful photographs on a regular basis, but we still have a weakness in the technical aspects of how photography works.
Photography is intriguing in that way: it is both highly creative and highly technical. You have to have a feel for the image, and eye for what to capture, but you also have to have a solid understanding of the technical aspects of how cameras and lenses work. That technical understanding will unlock knew realms of creativity, or, at the very least, help you mess-up fewer photos. Read the Post “Basic Photography” or the “Basics of Photography”
My daily work in the darkroom back in high school year book class has continued to pay off in all kinds of ways…I just never quite thought of this one. Sure, it helps me understand how to work on my photos in digital post processing. And yes, the love of the negative leaves me with no choice but raw over JPG. And without a doubt, there is something in those chemicals soaking into your finger tips that makes you a better photographer…or at least a more interesting one.
However, I never would have imagined my boss would hand me her one surviving photo of her two parents, faded, cracked into a strange and very non-conformist geometric shape, taped together from a suspicious rift right between the couple, and caked with a darkening grime which had presumably become a part of the photograph. To top it off, she is going to use it on the cover of the book she just finished. Enter Long-Since-Retired Darkroom Man! Read the Post Darkrooms, Heirlooms, and Kiddy Chopsticks