I think I have a theory about photography, or at least why I do photography, and it involves rhythm, harmony, and the happy perfection of birthday cake. Oh yes.
It's damn near impossible to find expression in words for how you see the world, and whatever vision you can muster up comes from someplace deep inside a sometimes unreachable place. I find myself tapping into it through my camera, but those who really know how to dream can convey those same thoughts and feelings through poetry. I'm forever in awe of that talent.
Lest you think I'm getting all smarmy and new-agey here, let me put that to rest. I'm no mystic, but as I advance in years I'm having more fun and feeling more creative with my photography than I ever have. That's not to say I was ever just going through the motions all those years working commercially, because I certainly wasn't. Photography has been an infinite source of joy since day one. So why now? Why is it that I can hardly take ten steps without seeing something that moves me to photograph it?
My friend Monterey has the right take on this. We were sharing cake and cabernet at Lily's birthday party this past weekend, which was an amazingly joyful (and eagerly photographed) event -- what four year-old's party isn't? Being both a photographer (we collaborated on many a project over the years) and an insightful and talented poet (a solitary pursuit that invites no collaboration), we talked at length about the equivalency of a photograph and a poem, and how both share the same remarkable vibrations. Art is autobiography, and I guess I'm looking to say as much as I'm looking to see; the camera is the perfect tool for those of us who are otherwise mute. The older I get, the more energized I am by the process.
"Who looks outside, dreams" says Carl Jung; "who looks inside, awakens." Don't know if he ever wrote poetry, and pretty sure he never took a photo, but what the hey, I'm right there with you, brother.
So let's do this. Get your camera -- or pen and paper -- and let's go wake up.
I'll make prints.