The opportunity to reflect experience and grow rises every day with the sun. I woke up later than normal, but every move was right on time. It took planning, visual and mental, written and read. I didn’t allow room for other things; I had rules. I would write after three games.
Resuming after every game, I might get a thought out, but going like this didn’t make sense. Luckily, I found some examples to follow over the past few days.
Take Marco Bauer, for example. His cameraless photography involves changing photo paper with chemical reactions like alcohol and fire. I could see myself blowing up if I focused on my observations and expanded them with abstractions. Portraiture captures people, but I could redefine how.
Alberto Burri relied on transformations in his work too. Following the “arte povera” (poor art) movement championed by critic, Germano Celant, Burri used everyday items. From his days as a wartime doctor, he translated scenes he witnessed, like bodily trauma, through his work. Charring a sheet of bark glued to canvas reveals singed red spots. Combustione, the idea highlights the fire in those determined to share their stories.
Then, what of the busted Canon PowerShot? What were my dark materials, devices for crafting with light? What was my guide? I believe that content’s luster fades with each passing day, with little care for what’s consumed. My lens focuses too much on social media, things outside of my control. Within my power I could write, photograph, record… maybe short films on the power of people’s stories? Maybe exploration of my identity within the context of today’s age… the ideas felt extra. Sometimes grocery store runs extended into pilgrimages the way the needless jumped out at you. Not paying attention could cause unexpected developments. Riding backseat in the snow, the roads hushed under the soft crunch. Soft meant less friction, a traffic nightmare. The poor officers didn’t know yet, those unfortunate servants of the public. Up the bridge, two hundred paces, a woman in glasses catching snowflakes called dispatch. Headset muted; the responder sighed. “A little snow, and all this!”
Film and prints decorated my home for as long as I can remember. Trips to Sears Portrait Studio, a business defunct now for their inability to pivot, fill my mind with soft edges. Like snow they ball up, and on occasion they grow to a size I can throw- out for it to stick on paper, in pictures. There was a solution, an idea in there somewhere. A picture of a person, through an item, everyday for a month… The ideas trail, a hungry shopper stumped by indecision, browsing for the next ingredient to add to their creations.
• I remove some of the trouble of deciding by choosing ahead of time what to do given options.
• Artists translate themes through methods of abstraction in order to entertain, appall and inform.
• I’m not certain what I can make of my truths: content’s getting worse, paying attention in this economy prevents crashes. Trying new ways to explain my stance might help.
• Portraits, stories, and people are just a few things I have to work with.
