Saturday, July 04, 2020



 And hope that at least one of you sing about me when I'm gone
Am I worth it?
Did I put enough work in?

When the lights shut off
And it's my turn to settle down
My main concern
Promise that you will sing about me
Promise that you will sing about me

Thursday, July 02, 2020

Love is so good could be forever (ever) 
Just to be sure 
I'll let it all go 
So we'll really know 
And if it's for real 
I do believe you'll come back to me
Come, come back to me 
Come, come back to me (ooh) 
Baby come back, baby come back to me 
Baby come back my love

Everything worth my heart and soul
I'ma give it up and let it go
Mama said if this really yours
Boy, you'll come back to me
All in my heart like no one know
I'ma give it up and letcha go
And if my heart is really yours
Boy, you'll come back to me

Friday, June 19, 2020
Otherwise, it just made it complicated
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
[A conversation that will not appear here: an old artworld acquaintence's misunderestimation of my business competence; the unlovely steel gate of my temperament coming down hard.  In my newfound state of grace I didn't say anything, but I'm sure she saw my eyes]
Thursday, June 11, 2020

Lee Friedlander, Pomona, New York, 1977 (printed 1981).  Collection CJB.
Thursday, June 04, 2020

Monday, June 01, 2020
I feel that much of what I have learned about photography since 2005 is present in three specific aspects of the image below:

1. The yellow plastic milk crate's strong color & indented ridges that visually rhyme with the shed's corrugated metal edges;

2. The use of the slightly projecting & definitely not flush with the picture plane bamboo diagonal to frame the composition like a pair of outstretched arms;

3. & following from #2, the weathered wood table at right & the fragments of light along the image's left hand edge.

A younger me would have squared the watering-can rack up precisely with the picture plane, so that the arc of its frame formed the peak of the composition, & the plastic jugs seemed to protrude into the viewer's own space. I would have also cropped aggressively, so that the flat crosshatch pattern of the wood-slat lattice would echo the flatness of the rack's appearance of being pasted onto the picture plane, like a paper print against transmounting plexiglass.  This would have resulted in a very stiff composition governed by my thinking about modernist abstraction, & not the natural arrangement of the objects pictured, whose spatial interrelationships, observed by me, define the image's boundaries.

Garden tools. Meanwhile, other photographers are being shot in the face.

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