Force, Harmony, Dissonance, Beauty
It comes with the feeling you have when writing or working the camera, even when editing your work afterwards—whistling, sotto voce. It’s the sense of becoming momentarily weightless. Lightheaded. It’s as Emily Dickinson described, “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” Artistic flow. Force. Harmony. Dissonance. Beauty. It’s the ‘doing’ that’s as important as the ‘done.’
Eyes. Hands. Camera. Keyboard. New expressions! In flagrante delicto! We sever as well as expand what it is we seek in the ephemera of experience and both are shared here.
Choose a gallery from the rotating slideshow to begin viewing my work. Links to these galleries, as well as more information about my work, are also on the top of every page.
I also share here on the site several collections of my work that were exhibited in local and regional galleries. Links to these are on my exhibits page.
Thank you for visiting.
Exphrasis
Below, my ekphrastic writing seeks to give my photographic work a second life. To describe it. Extend it. Deepen it. These are the images that stirred in me a need to amplify feelings and ideas, to explore their connections to society and culture, and their relevance to me. In some cases, the writing came first, or the images resonated with a particular passage in what I was reading.
Perhaps, as Antoine Roquentin muses in Nausea, by Jean-Paul Sartre, ”My words are dreams, that is all.” Why should this be at all disconcerting? Dreams form in an unfettered liminal space. A place of freedom!
An Emptiness Unfinished
An Emptiness Unfinished
There are images you pull from your camera all the time that immediately strike you as rubbish—digital garbage that you rarely hesitate to delete. But on occasion, with some, with this one, your sense of the image shifts.
Intimacy Without Desire
Intimacy Without Desire
It comes out of the blue,
This fleeting instant when we see in the eyes of others,
Ourselves.
When Truth Became Stone
When Truth Became Stone
Was this the night’s end
In the unlit halls of our dreams
Beneath the sputtering of the moon
Shadows in the Failure of Time
Shadows in the Failure of Time
These are the shadows in the failure of time.
The collapse of the subjective and the strands of memory
shredded in the unraveling of space…
The Oblivion Is Ours
The Oblivion Is Ours
These are the rhythmic shadows unleashed in winter.
Their restlessness in the light betrays the quiescence of the snow-steeped woods.
Falling Inward
Falling Inward
There is little more here than a blur.
Emergent stirrings in the shallows.
Unseen, the excavations of beauty
From the unfathomable physicality of life…