A Voice Crying in the DeserIt

A Voice Crying in the DeserIt

I’ve been working on different photo editing techniques to produce effects approaching oil paintings and water colors. But I am still dissatisfied. What style do I want to be remembered by? Presently, I throw out a potpourri of styles with hardly any thought about creating a coherent body of work.

Show example of styles
A Toddler on Wet Grass

The statue of a toddler sitting on the grass in the foreground, for example, was my attempt to capture a subject against a blurry background. For what purpose? Ah, that is my problem. In my earlier photos I had no preconceived concept for taking photos. I might as well have had taken photos randomly like teenagers taking selfies as a form of self-gratification.

Humor on a Restaurant Wall

This photo I took on one of my many walks around the backstreets of Yokohama. Humorous, yes. But the photo resembled one taken by a photo journalist. The success of the photo belonged to the anonymous artist who spent time illustrating the images on a brick wall.

Ferris Wheel devouring Building

The scene attracted my attention. The Ferris Wheel seemed to be rolling out of control. Then again what really attracted my attention was the cloud formation. A confusion of focal points. Foreground or Background? Why did I snap the photo? Maybe the totality of the scene attracted me. As an artist, I should have thought more deeply before snapping the image.

Soft Reflections

This photo came as an afterthought. I took the scene of the canal water under the bridge without thinking too much about what I wanted to create. Only after looking at the photo, I was amazed how I captured soft reflections on the water. With only a minimum of touching up I succeeded in creating a calming image.

Incest behind the Wall – Lot and his Daughters

I’ve always been fascinated by photos in which the photographer combined two images together to produce something more comical, more profound, or more absurd. I stumbled across the mural of two fishermen in Monterey, California. The scene had an nostalgic quality. I grew up in Monterey and remember watching fishermen working on their nets after days out at sea. But not everyone was born in Monterey and shared my boyhood experiences. So I added another layer. If you look carefully, you can see a Biblical scene played out. Lot and his daughter Genesis 19:30-38.

Lot and his Daughters

The back layer is from a woodcut by William Kent (1884-1748) based on a painting by Domenico Zampiero Domenichino (1581-1641). I chose this woodcut after a Bible lesson about a discussion about Lot. I was not quite satisfied with, what I considered, a cover up of the sin of incest. Though viewers could not see clearly behind the layer with the two fishermen, they might become curious about the story of Lot and perhaps even dig into their Bibles to learn more.

Feeding time at the stables

I drove up to a stables on a cold winter day with  friend. She was going for her regular Dressage Horse riding lesson. I walked around the stables and came upon this scene. The colors and hues of the horses blended serenely in the rays of the late afternoon wintry setting sun.

Boat Repair on the Bay

The boat in the repair dock attracted my attention because it seemed to fit naturally into a frame. A frame I could hang on the wall of my living room. Moreover, the scene reminded me of boat repairs I saw when I was a boy in Monterey, California 60 years ago.

 

Sunflower in the full bloom of life

Flowers have a powerful pull on me. The sunflower exudes in energy and enthusiasm as it grows upward and tall. The sunflower is a proud flower, full of itself and boastful. Standing ramrod straight, it announces to passers by,  “I can reach up and touch the sun.” But alas, pride comes before the fall.

The sunflower ages rapidly, its pedals wilt and the flower hangs limp on its stem. Then, as with all living beings, the flower dies. The gardener comes and with an unceremonious snip of the clippers cuts the head from the stem. It plops to the ground. The cycle of life played out once again.

And here I come to the end of my rambling thoughts. Time for a glass of white wine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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