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Sometimes I feel as if I’m trapped in a camera obscure, looking through a small pinhole for signs of life. The smaller the pinhole, the sharper the image is projected, but the projected image becomes dimmer. Yes, my mind is not for rent, it’s just spending a spell in the monochromatic blues.
For me, photography is an art, a way of creating durable images by recording light or other electromagnetic radiation. My sketch pad is a digital camera’s image sensor. My palette emerges in the post-processing (LightRoom 4); I discover new vision thru manipulation of exposure, highlights, contrast, shadows, tint, whites and blacks. The edited photograph might please me for a moment or longer — a strange brew soothing my emotional rescue.
Sometimes I need only tie my shoes and walk a short distance to find photographic inspiration… and as the snow melts outside I fade back to last autumn — comfortably numb in another time.
Like a phantom laughing at the rain, I’m soul-searching into what was, down Rt. 5 to the corner of Chapel Road in South Windsor, Ct.. Memories flicker as buttered popcorn permeates the muggy summer night remembered on this frosty January afternoon. I’m talking about the old Rt. 5 Drive-in, I’m lamenting backseat memories, and my camera flash-remembrance reminds me of the concession stand and projection room lost to time.
Join me and ramble on back into what was…
Rust hovers in the past adding flavor to the present. Old tractors, trailers and factories dusted with rust are bookmarks from history, to be looked at again and again. I often say photographs of old architecture bring to life ghosts of the past: workers, farmers, designers and owners…; there’s a peace to it all… a rust in peace.