Around We Go,
And Where We Stop,
No Body Nose.
December 16, 2011 Sony R-1
When I was a little boy I wanted a camera, the magic instrument of shadow images.
Gray smudges on squares of shiny paper, the secret mysteries of life revealed.
At college I majored in painting, pictures of the inside of things.
Seven years of painting from photographs followed, and then graduate school in photography and painting was gone.
Thirty years of COBOL and darkrooms and digital imaging ensued, until my retirement this summer from the career of my middle years.
The painting behind me is ten days old as of this post, one more has followed since.
Looking at the photograph I prefer the painting a bit out of focus, to soften the brush work into stains, levels adjusted to pop the red, the center dodged.
A major issue in art is defining the end of creation, the edge of the work, the borderline between art and the world of common definition.
The role of the artist is to present a unified view of thought and vision, a record of struggle, leading to the triumph of order.
Perform until,
Jack and Jill.
