Archive for spring
A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.
No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.
This man carries the world’s most sensitive cargo
but he’s not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.
His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy’s dream
deep inside him.
We’re not going to be able
to live in this world
if we’re not willing to do what he’s doing
with one another.
The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.
My peonies sleep
curled into their red roots
frozen with the ground.
I walk with what is left of winter
and discover a tiny animal, wet and black,
bereft of possibility.
It’s too close to spring to die.
we need a month of sunny days
before we dig and plant.
a hale storm threw
a million tiny pearls
onto tawny fields
as soon as they landed.
One life,-a little gleam of time between two Eternities.
“To me they are as beautiful as anything I know,” Georgia O’Keeffe said of the sun-bleached bones and skulls she found in the desert. “To me they are strangely more living than the animals walking around…. The bones seem to cut sharply to the center of something that is keenly alive …”
Lil Jester, the Story
I did know this little guy.
In 2011, I flew from LA to CNY to see my house for the first time (I bought it the month before, sight unseen) and to stay with my neighbor, Tim, who first posted the picture of the house on Facebook.
This was Mother’s Day weekend.
On Mother’s Day, Lil Jester was born, there were twins but one died and this one survived, barely. The mother rejected him, so Tim and I hand fed LJ for the first few days of his life.
There is another story where I was in charge of him and he disappeared and I thought he’d been swallowed by a coyote or ferret and I cried inconsolably, but I’ll save that retelling for later.
Anyway, by the time my house was being renovated in July 2011, he was a handsome young goat with nubs where his majestic horns would be.
In the country, not all goats are created equal and boy goats do hot hold the same rank as a girl goat, a girl can be milked and bred, a boy can be annoying and eaten when he is of the right age.
This was the fate of the little boy goat.
His bones were left in a field behind my house, I knew not where until spring 2013 rolled around and I was on one of my long walks through the mud.
Spring mud pushes bones to the surface that Winter stripped clean.
There he was.
I brought him home.
Dunga Brook Diary
Infused Metal Plates
Float Mounted, Ready To Hang
Art comes into being in that abstract interval between a thought and reality, and no one – not even the artist who created it – can remeasure the influences that caused it.” (Edgar A. Payne)
“One of my mentors, Miss Pamela des Barres, imagines that if my images were music they would sound like Beethoven, Sinatra and the Beatles combined. I’ll take that.
It is my intent to deify and illuminates the ordinary and my desire is that you might find the beautiful in the ordinary, too.
Each photo is imbued with the mystery of love at first sight, infused with my present and my past and my daily rebirth into a new freedom, a swan dive, if you will, into the deep end of the pool, lit by color, texture, and emotion.”
If you are interested in being a collector, thank YOU!
There are 5 in a series, some near sold-out, email a description of your selection.
Credit cards/Paypal, shipping- West Coast $15, East Coast $10
“Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again.”
Lately, I have been pushing myself to get better at black and white photography. A good black and white photo seems a poem compared to the novella you find in most of my color photographs. Simple is better. Clear, clean, brilliant, illuminated and ecclesiastical helps.
Here are my most recent attempts.
“Instructions for living a life.
Tell about it.”
― Mary Oliver
Yesterday was a prefect warm and sunny spring day in Central New York.
I live in the country, down a rural road that has little traffic aside from the occasional tractor and day laborer using it as a cut to bigger things, perhaps a town of 200 or more.
There is no town where I live, no there there and that is how I like it, right now.
I lived in Los Angeles before this, another town with no there there but many more people, millions of cars, relentless sunshine and a level of stress that is almost nuclear in its intensity.
Yesterday, the spring breeze was smooth, no nip at all, the clouds were white and fluffy and I meant to sit down and tell you about it as it went along.
But I was too busy.
Living in the moment.
I fell into the day like Alice in Wonderland fell into that great hole of wonder…I got lost, I got macro, I got panoramic…one with the earthy and the sky.
Here are a few photographs that document the day.
“Welcome, wild harbinger of spring!
To this small nook of earth;
Feeling and fancy fondly cling
Round thoughts which owe their birth
To thee, and to the humble spot
Where chance has fixed thy lowly lot.”