If only I were a poet. Or at least eloquent enough to convey thoughts and feelings regarding a photograph. There are some who feel to say anything at all about a photograph means it failed to visually convey a message. Others believe a photograph isn’t completely realized unless a snippet of information provides a point at which to enter and begin exploration. Then there are those who simply don’t care.
Weminuche Wilderness, southern Colorado’s San Juan range, circa. 1986
If it’s possible to exist between these categories, that’s where I find myself.
“The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.” – Robert Louis Stevenson
The other night I let the dog out in the back yard. The porch light switch was broken and I listened as she ambled down the deck’s wooden stairs and stepped onto the lawn beneath a quasi-full moon. As I stood on the deck attempting to locate a brown dog against green grass with no light – I was unable to see her dim, hunched form when looking directly at her. As I looked off to the side, however, my peripheral vision was able to identity she was indeed there, and was indeed fulfilling the mission. I tried again, peering intently, concentrating my direct gaze at where I last saw her. Again I saw only blackness. Averting my eyes to the side confirmed she was there, now finished, and sniffing about as dogs do.
I wonder how many things we intently search for, training every last bit of energy focusing our gaze – only to be met with darkness. Then I think about the times peripheral vision catches a glimpse of something unintended, and off we go alit, into the beautiful, dim blue.
“…the present is the most difficult period to apprehend; only with distance does the value of certain forms of photography and photo objects become clear.” – Joel Smith, curator of photography at the Morgan Library & Museum.
Special thanks to Denver Digital Imaging Center for their E6 expertise. #believeinfilm