This afternoon I realized that there is another activity on which I spend a great deal of time. If I am unable to sleep, I will come downstairs and work on images for the blog.
When the blog was started, I had two concerns. The first was finding suitable header images. The second was ensuring I could meet a consistent posting schedule. To verify I could do it, I created a challenge. I had to make one post each day for a week.
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This was a forced entry. As was the post immediately prior to this one. Somehow the joy went out of the act of writing like air leaving a punctured tire. Pfffft. And it was gone. All gone.
I sensed it at the time. I knew there was something wrong. I did not know what it was. I did not have enough sense of myself to react, or correct, or respond. I just went Pfffft.
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Photography before the accident was different. Subsequent to the accident, my relationship to photographic imagery has changed. Before the injury, I had a well defined sense of photographic style, an ideal that I strove to reflect in each image. I have no idea how this stylistic ideal originated. I expect it developed organically over a 46 year period (maybe more. My first camera was an Agfa folder found in a cupboard. After I persuaded my parents to buy me some film I was hooked by the discovery of this grainy method of capturing the transient events of life). My photographic experimentation was guided by a study of the photographic “greats,” the acknowledged masters of the medium: Frank, Brandt, Haas, Adams, Porter, Robert Capa, Eugene Smith. I discovered the greater world through their lenses. I discovered a personal world through my own.
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