I had to take a second look at “Dusting” and, an earlier posting, “Fence Line” — same fence, different day, month, and year.
This is no way to spend a life (in the arts).
And I resent the splint on my middle finger too.
I should give it three more weeks but might have patience for only two: what a waste of talent, in any case, compulsively making the same snapshot over and over and over and over again (and again) and again.
Not that they’re really the same at all, but I don’t have enough Barnum in me to defend “Fence Line I (II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, etc.)” as . . . art.
The truth is, the last thing the photographer does is take the picture.
Well, that used to be the last thing before a chemical and paper routine with minor variations took place (generally speaking). For a while now, I’d say about a decade for most of us, the straight photograph (honest: “right out of the camera!”) will do for a start.
I have one of the Adobe Suites and can get serious about photo-illustration and poster layout, but if I’m not out to break new ground with the latest whiz-bang (absent definite compensation), a few minutes with PhotoSlop may do for entertainment.
Basic digital’s too easy.
Complicated digital darkroom for it’s own sake may be too obsessive in the web’s visually rambunctious atmosphere.
I’m about ready to pick up a rig, put down an easel and drop cloth, and pick up a brush (would that I had that patience and childlike gonzo today).
Whatever the reflections, I got out for my walk — just like a dog or a prisoner or both — and I guess it was good, once back in my chair before a warm LaCie monitor, nosing around in the archive a few minutes on a blustery cold winter’s day.
J. S. Oppenheim -- All Together 