Short-term Parking

Waiting on higher ground for flood waters to recede, 9:21 AM.

Auto Focus

Most days I have no idea what I am doing from minute to minute. I'm packing lunch bags, I stop to sort mail but not read it because I'm detangling my son's hair, which reminds me I've yet to send that invoice. Then I'm out the door heading to the next fill-in-the-blank. I can't concentrate.

Late one afternoon I made this image while on the phone with a friend. We were discussing the over-abundance of photography related information available. Take the feed on my Twitter page; I click on link after link, going nowhere. Follow and be followed, maybe.

While talking, I pass though my bathroom. Light spills into the shower. I stand in the tub, phone to my ear, camera to my eye. Focus. The room feels airless, the instant is suspended. I hang up. Onto more worldly matters.

Hands Down

Protective, formidable, steadfast, true. Just like him.

Carte Rouge

I was consumed with doubt when I found my escape at the back of a strip mall. I got my fix.

Stinging from my third rejection in recent weeks I question the desire to promote my work. It's a big job, one that requires thought and focus and deadlines. Art making is intuitive for me in a way that promotion is not. Finding a balance between the two is difficult but necessary. One should not exist without the other.

What is my goal as I ride the production/promotion merry-go-round? Is the art for you, for me or for them? The answer must be D. All of the Above. My photographs will find the right people when the time is right.

What choice do I have but to be an artist. I see the world in a way that colors all that I do.

Ladyfingers

Turns out that the Ladyfinger is a complicated cookie. In order to do the job right you will need more flour than most sponge cakes and the yolks and whites have to be handled separately. A mixer, sifter, parchment paper, pencil and ruler are also important. If the Ladyfingers cool too fast they will stick to the parchment paper and even worse, will stale quickly unless soaked in liquid. So are they worth the effort? I don't know. Ask the Tiramisu.

Actual fingers are more interesting than baked goods and I look closely at the hands I encounter. Hands seem to carry their own personal narrative, their stories can't be concealed with a little powder and blush. A disembodied hand caught my eye recently as I flashed back to my youth spent watching The Addams Family on T.V.  Perhaps it's just a Bling Thing.