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.

Dreyke Logan Smith

I'm in the habit of getting up early in the morning to stretch and go through various routines in an attempt to battle age. You can't start too soon. It amazes me that each morning, everything is new. Despite the raging weathering of the previous day's activities on all things organic and non, everything is brand new the following morning. . . every time. My life has been about raging. It's been about weathering. It's been about incredibly life altering relationships that promise to be far more than they ultimately are. It's heart-rendingly disappointing and, quite frankly, aging. It all changed last Monday, June 21st. This little creature came into my life and now everything is very new. I have a completely new thought system and execution to things. I had no idea what was about to happen to me. What was once gray is now white. Where there was fear, there is now courage.  

By design, two months have passed since my last post. A significant thing has happened. I am no longer looking back. I am only looking forward. Where once only death stood, now there is only life.

Everything is new.

No Looking Back . . .

Don't look back. Work straight ahead. You know what you need to do. So set your face on it and get to it. Don't look back. Stop checking to make sure you're doing it right. You'll get better as you go. Stop checking to make sure you're straight. You never will be. Just work. Work towards the goal. Get to it. Move straight ahead with abandon. Stop caring whether or not you mess up. Because you're going to. When you do, DON'T LOOK BACK AND GRIEVE THE MESS UP! Just move on, move ahead. Don't focus on what's behind. Just get to work on what's in front. If you hired someone to cut your grass and they always looked backward, worried their rows weren't "straight and narrow," they'd be forever frustrated at their crooked job and missed spots, their moral would sink, and they would never know the joy of GETTING OVER IT and finishing the job. Frankly, you'd fire their tail and hire someone else. SO! Get to work and stop worrying about the mistakes you've made and the crap that's happened in your life. Focus on your job. . . on who you were made to be . . . AND GET TO IT!

God talks to me when I'm outside. I mowed the grass today. . . and I messed up - alot. But I got it done. I finished. And that's what counts.

So . . . how 'bout them apples.

Netherportal

Sometimes I see things that others do not see . . .  like shadows and living emotion in the landscape. Sometimes they are frightening. Other times, they are just there. . . like a story that needs to be told but no one living remembers. I'm not sure what it is that I'm seeing, imagination, latent emotional energy, spiritual communication. I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy. Sometimes it's so powerful, I can remember it long enough to capture the scene with my camera and piece it together with other images-just to get a feel for what it is. I'm introducing some of these images now. Like I said, maybe I'm crazy . . . think what you will. I just have to share it. They're not perfect, but you'll get the idea.

Buzzers