charla.ca

I’m really enjoying procrastinating as both kids are asleep and it is a beautiful day to be stuck in the house.  I’ve been parousing a few blogs.  I ended up reading about the same topic from two people and it stuck with me.  But, as I like to do, I will simply post the link for you to follow (if you dare) and I won’t write much on it myself.  I did comment so be sure to read it as well.  Then, if you can conjure the energy and remember me at the same time, come back and tell me about it.  I know, that’s way too much work.  I hope you get something from it anyways.

Check out ‘Art is a Verb’ as written by Gordon Mcgregor.

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least…

- Shakespeare

If you get that quote read this post. I was in that place a while, fortunately I’m not anymore.  I just recently found the ‘Musings on Photography’ blog . I’m still finding a few interesting posts from it.  If you got time to waste, or want to waste time you don’t have it’s a good, down to earth, normal guy read.

I’ll try and find a little more of an uplifting quote for tomorrow.

I traveled to Ireland (and Scotland) in 2001. Wow, that was a long time ago now. It was an experience, like I hope every experience is, that changed my life. A good friend and I backpacked around for a short while. We met some amazing people and had all the great adventures most other backpackers can talk of. I carried a film camera and hadn’t done a lot of photojournalist style photography (besides weddings). The balance between enjoying everything for myself and trying to capture what I was experiencing on film really frustrated me. I love looking back at my images now but I can see the fear in them. Here are two that I scanned a long time ago.

The first image of the boy is probably my favorite from the trip. I was finally letting go of my anxiety of photographing strangers. We were walking down the street and lingered near a bus stop where a lot of interesting people were waiting. Around their legs played a few Irish boys. They were kicking around a ball. I remember feeling relaxed as I watched them through my lens. Being that I had a limited amount of film on me I had to choose carefully when to open my shutter. This boy sat to take a short breather. I held my breath and waited for him to look back at his friends, he did and this is what I got. I feel it was my first photojournalistic success!

This second image is a favorite of all my friends. I see it as a missed opportunity but I do like to remember that moment. My poor traveling buddy must have been sick of me griping over not knowing how to get a good image and not having the nerve to do it. I’m not sure if I thought this poor old man was going to run after me or what but I was so terrified to point my lens in his direction. If I had relaxed and waited for the moment I would have gotten a better composition. But I won’t live in the what ifs. I do love his posture, his outfit and how he holds his bag. He was simply walking down the street. I knew there was a moment to capture. He did stop at exactly the right moment and pause right across the street from where I was standing. I should have seen it as magical but instead I was shaking in my boots and barely held the camera up long enough to expose the film.

My travel friend, Gin, is an incredible writer. Here are a few excerpts from her writings about Ireland.

The dream. The theme. Everybody wants to see
What the heart already believes.
A soul in waiting is elastic in tension
But unbreakable in strength.
A city now in ruins
Has nothing left to lose.

…

I hear songs on the radio —like the smell of cold air and pine trees and you know its Christmas— that take me back to a place that began as a dream and is quickly fading into one again..

…

I sleep in different places every night, I call no place home, but finally I am more at home with myself than ever before.

…

Elevated above the night, I fly into day. The moon high above now behind me
and the sun, the sun rising in front of me. The day sleeps on a beautiful dream, it still lives on deep in the middle of night; dark and black and exploding as with fireworks on the first of July. It refuses to die.  I close my eyes, stretch out my hands, open my heart and say goodbye.

- Gin Balfour (2001)