“Whether he is an artist or not, the photographer is a joyous sensualist, for the simple reason that the eye traffics in feelings, not in thoughts.”
I’ve wanted a globe in my home for quite some time. I found this gem at a thrift store for $10. I love it so. It really has a nice mint green coloring that is not evident in these photos (cause really I can’t help to mess with the color).
I love the quote above. I’ve struggled for a long while with an explanation that might help define, for someone who has never felt it, what it is like to live in that moment of creation. You know, that moment of magic, when something you make (of light or paint or words) takes on qualities that outweigh the raw materials you’ve put in… when it becomes something greater than you even knew existed… when you feel that the power has been taken from you from some greater force and worked a miracle in your hands… when you’ve been whiteness to a possession of your own soul by something that you can’t explain and find it has made something you almost don’t understand all in your name. You know, that moment?
I still struggle, and probably always will, with a way to understand what exactly happens when that magic occurs, and why it sometimes doesn’t. I think though, Walker Evans had a little piece of it exactly right.
It’s not an object I ever photograph. It’s the feeling I’m possessed with that speaks to me. It’s an intuitive, out of body experience. I don’t know why it comes to me.
I feel so lucky to have been randomly chosen by the muse… So grateful that there are these small moments in my life when I’m allowed to flow out of myself and see, no feel, a beauty that is beyond my understanding. Dumb luck. Dumb, stupid, mistaken luck. I’m not worthy, but I’ll take it.