One of the things I wanted to do when I got up this morning was to get together a new post. I didn't have any new images, or anything in particular to spin on, so I wondered if I should even bother or simply wait for stronger motivation.
In the end I decided to simply start writing and see where it went. I even found an old pic to share. If this image pleases you at all I'd like you take a moment to think about why you like it, before you finish reading my thoughts about it.
I don't remember much about this pic. Not the location, the lens that was used, my motivation when I tripped the shutter, nothing like that. But it is one that I saw fit to keep rather that delete along with all the other garbage that accumulates on my PC.
What makes it different? What qualities does it possess that make it a "keeper"?
I suppose I was initially attracted to the vibrancy of the greens, the sense of disconnectedness, and the way the tones, along with the bokeh, frame the focal point. Beyond this I can't say that it did much for me, but these things were enough to make it worth keeping. Until now, though, I haven't bothered to share.
So I kept it, shouldn't that alone make it worth sharing? Was the time not right, did I just not like it well enough? Was it not worthy?
When I look at the finished photo in a critical manner I can see that it doesn't really go anywhere. It's green and gray. The simple, amateurish composition is decidedly centered around a teensy focal point. (It's a lousy macro of a latch, for heavens sake.) What more is there to see?
But then, when I look it with a non-critical eye I see that there is a bit more. Not much, perhaps, but a little. This is where the tones that frame the focal point get my attention. They're creamy and rich. I like that. The latch seems to be hanging in midair. Shouldn't it be attached to a door? The colors are rich, and the patina on the latch tells a little of its age.
So now I share. Not much, perhaps, but a little.
2 comments:
I grew up in the Philly suburbs, which at the time were still farm-dotted, wooded, and littered with relics. Often we'd find colonial & Revolutionary War debris, along with older things like arrowheads. And when we'd dig in the loam of the wood lots, we'd unearth lumber which somehow seemed to resist total rotting.
I was startled back to those moments by your image. Moments when I recall, with a friend, unearthing a wood-piece which had imbedded in it the mould-green tip of an ancient rifle shot. We took our BoyScout knives and carved it loose. And damned if it's tail didn't look machined much like your bolt.
For a couple of years my friend and I cherished the lump, and with carefully constructed rules, shared its ownership, passing it to and fro in a boy-like ritual way. It was our bond with whoever made the pellet, whoever carried it, and whoever shot it. And it was our bond with each other.
Time snapped it.
We grew away - the lead-thing long since lost, along with the friendship. Until I saw your image, and recalled the tail of that jutting bullet... and our excitement probably at being boys at a time when being a boy was a good thing... when little wonders still widened our eyes. And for a moment my friend was there.
How good of you to let me share that with him, if only in my dreams.
Ted
My Images Explained
My Images Stored
Thanks Ted, I'm glad you liked it and I enjoyed reading of the memories that it held for you. It's the kind of response I would never have expected but am nonetheless delighted to have evoked.
Regards,
-Michael
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