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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.

Art is but a vector in the history of the self shaped by our tools and the instruments of the body, by place and time, by what is seen, felt and heard, and what is remembered.

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!

Falling Inward

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…

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Recondite Reflections

Recondite Reflections

Recondite Reflections

What is this ditch but a split in the earth.
A millrace stilled. A catchment for water,
Fallen limbs and leaves…

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Now a Stranger

Now a Stranger

Now a Stranger

Before I was a man,
I was a child in a world of strangers,
Whose soft, palpable truths hardened, then splintered…

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In the Tombs of the Living

In the Tombs of the Living

In the Tombs of the Living

A walk in the winter woods at the end of the day. The once green turrets of the trees empty in the lavender sky. The dance of shadows at their feet falling still. A final photograph, then home—

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First Doorways

First Doorways

First Doorways

Chiseled in the darkness of stone,
Lie the buried, unfathomable fire,
The sounds of the pounding sea…

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Man of Sorrows

Man of Sorrows

Man of Sorrows

This 16th century, life-size wooden sculpture, “Man of Sorrows,” by an unknown artist, strips away all pretense of certainty in an uncertain world. It lays bare the vulnerabilities we share, especially the pain of the innocent…

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