I see the rays of sun hit the earth like liquid gold waves. I live in an impressionist painting. From far away, the colors dance and flow in and out of one another; they copulate within pupils, using cones and rods in foreplay before merging in the mind. Close up, the violence of the knife assaults with color and the delicacy of the brush nutures whimsical forms.
Beings that I recognize shift through the soft lines and contrivance of light and shadow. I shift as well. Every movement casts a different color; no one frame is the same. Sometimes the world looks that way… still frames conveying motion through speed of sequential appearance. The coherency of the story depends upon the order of the frames. At times I like to reach out my hand to touch the picture, grab the corner and then shuffle. The human mind will seek out patterns regardless of the shuffle.
I could make a story out of the simple observations of the play of Light. (Perhaps one day I will. ) Photographers capture. They have choices: present as is, present as seen, present as conceptualized, or just present. They allow the subjects and objects to reveal their own stories. Whether they hold your hand through the positions, abstractions, concretions, lines and effects, you, as the viewer, make the final call of the scene.
Storytellers put a blindfold on you and say “Come with me.” Many have enjoyed the element of escape inherent in stories. Although, just as many savor the element of truth or confrontation they deliver.
Mediums are utilized to send messages and illustrate ideas.
I mix mediums. The experience… Life is a medium… as anything can be.
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