Those of you have been following my blog for the past few months or those that know me in my life may have come to notice that photography is a passion of mine.So from time to time , I wonder and question why is the art of photography so compelling to me.
About a year ago, someone who hardly knew me at the time ,in his direct manner asked me how can I call myself a photographer when during the past few years I have not photographed very much and I had a paucity of work to share and show of my "passionate work". Needless to say, I was somewhat abashed by this truthful exposure. How can we say we love anything or anyone without the power of actions to uphold our words of passion.Although this person did not really know me, nor did he know of the paths I took in my life to get to the present moment, I took his words to heart. I started to remember the exhilarating wonder that I was imbued with in the days of many years before that I would pause to reflect, to see , to allow myself the gift of astonishment. Since that day,almost a year ago, my camera has returned to its familiar home swinging at my hip side with me where I go.My camera and I have rekindled and renewed a friendship. I see the world differently and in many ways with greater clarity than years before.I am more comfortable in taking time to make time for my life ,making the space for the ability to wonder,to be amazed.Small occurrences are more like sublime adventures,I feel I have no time to waste, that there is always something that beckons my attention because of its simple beauty,uniqueness or mere presence.There are times in one's life that we are more receptive,that words permeate to our core with greater ease and profoundly effect us. The bearer of such words may not know the indelible effect it has on the other as it is the other's personal odyssey that is evolving. Such experiences can and do change the tides of one's life in perceptible measures. Do we give thanks when we have such experiences happen to us ,in us,or is this the natural ebb and flow that occurs sometimes at random between human beings, just because it is that way at some times in one's life.
Yesterday , again I had such an experience,thus it reminded me of the one I just spoke of. A young photo-ethnologist of great burgeoning talent was teaching me of some technical matters in photography. He asked me very respectfully and with attention ,"so , why do you photograph?"His tone was inquisitive ,and reflective as if he was also asking himself that same question. I paused to think of an answer that would describe my feelings and something about the journey to this present moment and question. The day before I had been pondering the same matter. I was walking near dusk in a small nature reserve to collect my thoughts after a day at work.It was unusually warm for May, the air moist,thick, the kind of air that you can touch, hold its heavy,yet still delicate velvety moistness in the palm of your hand. Dusk, by nature has its owm misty,elegant smooth softness. I came upon a great grassy field, the sun barely beginning its westerly setting , birds faintly chirping. The fading sunlight's color, a soft heathery subdued violet. Words could do no justice to the simple but comlex astonishing beauty. The quality of time was eternal like.
I remembered that field as I gave my answer to the young photo-ethnolgist. Why?because looking through the lens calls me to attention, brings me to astonishment,to rapture, to tears , to prayer,to all that is part of me, greater than me, to the present moment and beyond, as if time could almost stop . I want to remember these moments as life can get challenging and I can forget easily.For me, as I look through the lens ,the imprints of what is finest,worthy of my abiding astonshment and admiration,perhaps love takes form for me to carry always and try to share at times.
I am grateful to those who take the time to question me, so I may in turn continue to question myself.We can never really predict the profound effect we can have on each other ,much the same way we can not predict the power of what enters our visual fields, our minds, our souls, our memories that linger ....
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