Vintage

Say hello to the all new Shur Shot camera from Agfa Ansco. Now you can be sure every photo captures your life perfectly . . . just like the pros. I'm sure something like that was said back in 1935 when this camera made it's debut to the public. Technology was marching on and everything was new and exciting.  This camera was sitting in my basement collecting dust just as it was in the antique store where I found it several years ago. I can't help but see the similarity between this instrument of documentation and today's events. When this camera came out it was the peak of image capture technology. It was also in the midst of the Great Depression. Much like today, we are in a very depressed economy, and yet we're surrounded by the best and the newest in technological advancement. This camera captured an era of uncertainty and although I'll never know what photos it actually captured, the things it actually saw, the evidence of it's many years are scratched and worn throughout it's entire body. 

Personally, I'm glad to see 2010 go. It's been a rough year and I'm heading into what looks like another tough, tough year. But, nothing's for sure, especially when it seems it is. And regardless of the things I've seen and don't share, my face is showing the wear and tear every morning when I look in the mirror. A happy new year only means new lines on my visage, and more white hairs on my balding head. This camera's been forgotten . . . frankly because it's crap! It takes terrible pictures from today's standards and even against the standards of its day. But everyone looked forward to its arrival. Do I look forward to 2011's arrival. Not really. Just another day. No big plans. No big celebration. Regardless of the shortcomings of this camera, it had to be made. If it hadn't, Kodak wouldn't have had the competition necessary to push it's R&D. Nikon and that other brand wouldn't have been started. Everyone who wanted to take a photo would still be lugging around those view camera monstrosities. In short, we wouldn't have the awesome consumer digital cameras we use today. Yesterday's awesome is today's garbage, but that garbage got us to today's awesome . . . which will be tomorrow's garbage. So on and so forth. Time marches on. It seems trite and useless to celebrate one day out of the year as the beginning when time is so endlessly cyclical. I like to look at it like this . . . Every day is a new year. Every day can be said "one year ago, today." This means that every day is a clean slate and a new opportunity to make yesterday's regrets the learning experience we need to gain tomorrows garbage. As long as we see our garbage as a stepping stone and move on, we can always look back on it as vintage.  

Thanks Agfa Ansco for your vintage I was able to shoot with my awesome.

The Newest X-Man . . . maybe.

My brother, Matt, came down to see me for Christmas and I had no idea what gift to get him. So I made him an X-Man.

Bringer of Snow

So, Merry Christmas first of all!

Apparently, we haven't had an accumulation of snow on Christmas in Georgia since the late 1800's. We definitely had an accumulation today and as I type this, it continues to accumulate. The only new variable in existence to my knowledge is that my brother, Matt, is visiting from Indiana. He said he wanted to visit the South for Christmas because it wouldn't be snowing. Obviously, that's asking for it. So, if you were caught out in the "blizzard" driving home from grandma's house, or get stuck in your house tomorrow because the roads are iced over, or are absolutely loving this White Christmas, let him know about it.
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Cuke

I like cucumbers. Not because they taste good in salad or on Greek sandwiches. They are most often and erroneously considered ground plants. Not so! Given the proper materials they will climb very quickly with a little training, make great shade plants and actually grow very robust fruit hanging from a vine. It's so much easier to pick at eye level than at ground level. It's all about course correction.

Tom

Tom was an avid photographer who worked with my wife. Through his contacts, he was kind enough to offer us a stay at Lake Chatuge in North Georgia a few months back. From what I understand, he was fond of sharing things he enjoyed with people. While we were there, we did some hiking and came up on this creek in the forest. It was quiet and peaceful and full of natural, clean energy; something I rather needed at the time and probably need more often now than I realize. This was the shot I captured. I didn't know him enough to say we were good friends, but his kindness was more than beneficial and I greatly appreciated the time he helped us spend away. Several weeks passed after that trip and I heard that Tom had taken his own life.  I don't know what great struggles plagued him, but whatever they were, they are gone now. I like to imagine he's now sitting next to a quiet stream much like this one, enjoying the natural revitalizing energy of God's creation. From one photographer to another, this shot is for you, Tom. I wish you peace.

Vacant

I had the opportunity to shoot a century old house this past spring while volunteering with Elm Street Cultural Arts Village of Woodstock, GA (www.elmstreetarts.org). The plan is to renovate this historic property into an art studio/gallery/art school. We were doing a walkthrough with the mayor and some of his associates to get our eyes on the derelict and plan what was going to be needed to fix the place up. It needs a lot of work. It strikes me every time I see a place like this, the amount of energy and history that has worked its magic, charm and, ultimately, it's destructive force on the place. Seems to me that no matter what happens in a space, positive or negative, time is a savage when it comes to the forgotten. All that are left in that old farmhouse now are ghosts from the old city. Maybe we can bring it back to life and fill it with some warm and creative energy. Regardless, the forgotten never grow on their own. Their stories are always sad and their doors may as well lead to nowhere. They either find someone who will remember them, or, like this old pile of wood, go back to the dust they came from. You don't have to be dead to die. Next time you're out, take a look at the empty forgotten spaces you come across. There's always a story as to how they came to be forgotten.

Summer Predator

So, it's been awhile. But I'm back. I'm starting a little early for 2011, so in the days preceding that turn of the calendar, I will post some reminiscent pieces I captured this past year that I think are noteworthy. A little background on this one. In my little organic garden, I decided to grow okra this past year. It did very well, thanks to a green thumb, some naturally enriched soil, sun, rain, and this wicked yet shy predator. Midway through the growing season, I noticed that my okra was being ravaged by a hoard of ants. Not that the ants were doing any harm themselves, but they were doing a little farming themselves and their cash crop was aphid. Thousands of the little ant slaves roamed freely across the open plains of my large okra leaves. Soon my okra began to show devastating wear and tear and I feared the worst for my new crop (I don't even like okra, really, but the flowers are beautiful!) I tried several organic pesticides but nothing worked. I was at a loss. After a few weeks I noticed my plants were perking up so I investigated. Much to my surprise, I couldn't find one aphid and zero ants. I mean nil! As I pondered this miracle of possible mass migration, I spied her. There she was! Long, slender, beautiful and terrifying. Like an ancient and terrible dinosaur tearing through vast fields of baby sheep, this seductive predator decimated the aphid and ant population. Why she chose my garden, I'll never really know, but I had TONS of okra. I enjoyed her presence for an all too brief amount of time, and then as quickly and quietly as she came, she was gone. However, I did get the opportunity to photograph her. Her smile being so enigmatic, she felt her best asset was her pair of long legs, with which she lured many a hungry agrarian to their death. So that's what I shot. Maybe I'll see her again next year. Or maybe I'll be visited by another of her species. At any rate, her presence was appreciated and her services were free. So I can hardly complain.