Starting today, I'm off the grid and into the grit, out in the Nevada desert. I will continue to post. Like magic. Only without comment. Artifacts left behind. This will be a week where I indulge in my words.
Like these water-worn stones chopped into pieces by the shadow of the mesh container.
Looking for an Anne Sexton line, I across this poem instead. It reminded me of when, on a walk at the Albany Bulb, I stumbled on a landfill turned art gallery, a huge, beautiful sculpture in scrap metal of Icarus at one corner, leaping from a pile of rusty junk and scrub bushes out toward the sun. The arch of the sculpture has a beautiful force to it, as though it really is ripping itself from the junk to wing out over the bay.
It's a good segue to leaving for Burning Man: the idea of sun, sky, fire, art, abandon. Crazy triumphant leaps of creative thought.
To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Triumph
Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wings on,
testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade,
and think of that first flawless moment over the lawn
of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made!
There below are the trees, as awkward as camels;
and here are the shocked starlings pumping past
and think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well:
larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast
of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
Feel the fire at his neck and see how casually
he glances up and is caught, wondrously tunneling
into that hot eye. Who cares that he fell back down to the sea?
See him acclaiming the sun and come plunging down
while his sensible daddy goes straight into town.
—from All My Pretty Ones, by Anne Sexton
Elfin moth-catcher, meet spacey snake-charmer. This little girl was completely fascinated with her own entry at a little community pet pageant. The snake didn't seem to have a problem being adored.
I just can't go wrong getting up early. This morning, I picked up MM and drove that glorious hour out to Point Reyes to find horses. At the stable, we were entertained by a tow-headed, elfin little girl who caught a moth and brought it to show us. You can picture her by the way she holds the moth, that thumb.
Two funny coincidences: her mother grouched lightheartedly that the little girl never wore shoes: "She runs all over the gravel; I don't know how she does it." Later, we asked the girl which was her favorite horse. "That one," she said. "Next to the painted one. Ariel."
And here she is.
Two and a half years ago, D was finishing up his last year in Tucson, so I paid him a visit. Tucson is high-contrast heaven, so I was glued to the camera. I coerced him into portrait shots, and 2 hours and 200 shots later realized that portrait photos were the most exhilarating creative thing I had ever done. I've only done it two or three times since; same mad rush.
When I took this set, NB, my photo critic, pointed out the repeated overexposure. At the time, I was so overwhelmed that I had captured exactly what I had set out to capture that I didn't care. But I see it now. I've learned to be a little more careful with light. But I don't mind that these are the way they are. I am only posting this one, but especially all together, they are landmark, to me.
Out on the pier on Saturday, just after dawn, I was projecting onto the birds' flight the joy of being able to see after a half day of darkness. Wondered if their body clock was like mine: mind on the move as soon as daylight arrives.
I had the good luck to catch a ride out to the Richmond Marin Rod & Gun Club yesterday for an early morning restoration project. It's one of those things that if you help, you help, and if you wander off with a camera in your hand everyone present figures that's just what you do.
I was so content that when someone said 'I take it you're not a member,' as an opening comment I bit back any irritation. Good thing: he introduced himself as the president of the club, and welcomed me to join. He also mentioned a gun hadn't been shot there in 50 years.
It was a very good morning, with many photos that made me happy. I also invited myself onto a boat without a moment's thought; unusual for me. I have a strange doubts about water, but I like boats quite a bit, and generally that tension makes me waver a second. No wavering this time. I wanted to cover every inch of the area, from every angle except the wet suit one.
More to come.
More hummingbird, this time nearly in disguise as a bamboo leaf. The bamboo perch suits it: always in some sort of motion, both a grace and a pointedness, the same brushstroke lines.
I had to maneuver to photograph this flower, and, per usual, took several shots along the way before getting to The shot. Also per usual, I like one of the shots-in-progress better than The shot. Partly because of the lessons I learn: I was so intent on getting the filaments in focus that I didn't realize I was getting the outer petals in focus too. And that it looked like a hand, a claw really, reaching around the flower.