“Common sense” sometimes eludes me.
All the physical senses, however, drive my impulsiveness.
And somehow, throughout my life, I have found the camera to be the best way to contemplate the beauty that pops up whenever I stop to see where my impulse has led me.
So I guess I’m on a mission to find balance in imbalance—the harmonic resonance that makes you, the viewer, say “Yes. That’s what I feel. You see it too.”
I’m told my photos are worth looking at.
And I enjoy sharing them. So here we are.
My intent is always to show just enough to satisfy.
There’s nothing that annoys me more than someone presuming to know what I want to spend moments of this precious life looking at. I like to think I’m not that presumptuous. So have a click around my galleries, and if you feel you’ve had some quality moments, feel free to let me know. You can even join my mailing list.
I once got past Secret Service
A White House photographer took the photos in this contact sheet. But somewhere in my basement, or one of my sisters’ basements, or perhaps my mother’s attic, there’s a box of slides of this event: the bicentennial at the Old North Bridge, April 19th, 1975.
That’s the day my 11-year-old self (in a tricorn hat, not unlike the boys above) climbed a tree (like the people in row 2) to get a wide view shot, then got down on all fours and scrambled among the legs of the crowd and past the legs of a secret service agent to use my Pocket Instamatic to get a pretty darned good shot of President Ford.
I wish I knew where that photo was.
Keep Squam and Carry On
My inner child is most at home on Squam Lake, in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire. Which works out well, because I live less than ten minutes away from it, and somewhat regularly head over there to say hello to the loons.
I don’t live in the past, but I think about it a lot.
I took the photo below with my beloved Pentax K1000 sometime in 1984 or 1985.
The Walkman. The wires. The wine glasses. The purloined train sign. The texture, temperature, sound and smell of each of these items is immediate for me.
I went back to France as soon as I graduated from college, and lived in Paris for two years. And Hemingway’s right:
“There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it.”
If you’ve come this far, I’ll tell you about what truly matters to me.
My wife. My family. My pets. My best friends.
Mutual understanding. Tolerance. And the truth of equality.
I spent years chasing elusive ideals, only to finally realize that the ideal is right where you are, in any moment, if you just stop to look.