Cool again today. It has been for two and some days and nights very warm. This morning as I woke the air smelled fresh and cool again. It was time for my morning walk at six fifteen. Quiet outside.
As I made my way down the block, a scene caught my attention. I stopped to watch for a few moments. Two large crows walked down the center of the street, side by side. A car was coming. They look at each other, and each walked aside to opposite sides of the road, and stood there. The car drove past. The crows rejoined each other in the center of the road and continued their walking pace. A little rustle in the bush to my left. I looked down. There was a squirrel, face peeking out from behind the plants, watching the crows. Its head turned as they walked past, following them, then it turned around and sped through its plant shrouded path to the nearby tree, chittered up the trunk, and onto the telephone wires overhead. The crows looked up as it danced across to the other side, and continued their stately walk. Thinking of the Isle of Man this morning as I walked, this little society of creatures having played their moment in my awareness, I recalled a walk I made the second day I was there last year. I’d walked from my friends’ house where I was staying into the village of Ballaugh, bought a sandwich, and then entered the old rail right of way cutting through the countryside parallel to the path of the main road. A short section of it was a small park with grass, hedges, benches and trees. Very quiet. I sat on a bench and ate my lunch, read a book, and listened. There wasn’t much to hear … an occasional car, rustling of wind and leaves. Quiet. The day was overcast and gray, cool, threatening a shower. I kept walking the right of way past the park after I rose from the bench. Past the park, on this right of way between farms on either side. Tractors working the fields hidden from direct sight by the hedges. Occasional sounds of someone talking. Birds and small animals, hedgerows and stone walls bordering fields. Contrasts of the man made and the natural. My walk then took me to the road again, and back to where I was staying. It rained on me twice, lightly. Quiet, peace as I walked this morning.. not-thinking. Letting consciousness go to perception. After the scene I witnessed… Coffee, a bun, the walk home. I went back to photos from that day’s walk in Ballaugh and found these two. I liked them each alone, but they sang to me when I combined them together as a diptych. .. I wonder about the society of crow and squirrel.A wall, corrugated concrete, three sections at angles to one another. Simple. Or complex?
I have walked by this wall on my Saturday morning walks, every week for a few years. I’ve seen it change over and over again … from flat concrete marked with graffiti, to painted over, to this new construction again marked and painted, marked and painted. It remains stolid, simple, yet …
A month or two ago I pulled out one of the old compact 35mm cameras that had been languishing in a drawer for many years. Looking at it I thought, “Hmm, I’ve got a ton of old film in the drawer that’s way out of date, and bunches more in the freezer … I guess I should use it up…” and my ‘shoot a roll of film every week or so until gone’ project was born. I take out one of my old cameras, whichever piques my interest on a day, throw whichever roll of film comes to hand into it, and shoot with that setup exclusively until I finish the roll of film.
It proves fun. This week’s pick was one of my old favorites, a black Rollei 35S that I’ve owned for a couple of decades, filled with an ancient roll of Ilford 400 Delta at least four years out of date. I carried it with me from Friday until Sunday; the bulk of the exposures I made were at the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco on Sunday. Amazing that 36 exposures can take three days to consume.
Working with the Rollei 35 again brought to mind the discussion on the forums last week. ‘Can the camera change the way you see, what you do with your photography?’ Yes, and no, and yes … The Rollei 35 has nothing automatic, nothing to help you focus, just a simple meter and the barest minimum of aperture, shutter, focus. No way to see what you shot, to ensure that you caught what you wanted. At the same time, it has nothing to get in the way of your thoughts.
Shooting with it, one lives in the future and in the present simultaneously. You give up knowing for hoping. You give up aid and accept the consequences of your settings. Is it simpler? or more complex?
I love this wall. I’ve photographed it many times. This is one of my favorite photos of it. Did this camera help me?
Yes, and no, and yes …? At least it didn’t get in the way.
My mind floated a lot yesterday. I has those moments of objective detachment that come every so often when subconscious thoughts are pounding away furiously at an idea but not yet speaking to the conscious brain. I’m not sure it’s done yet but things seem quieter in there today.
Our world is changing so rapidly. When I was a child, I remember seeing scenes like this so often that I never really thought about them as anything special.
Nowadays, I cannot recall the last time I saw a Sister in religious habit, never mind three together, walking in public. I was compelled to make an exposure. A few weeks ago, I realized that I had the John Varley Titan trilogy on my bookshelves and I hadn’t read them in many years. I could not recall any details of the story. I decided to re-read them. Simple, fun, science fiction stories, with a very 1960s-1970s feel. Unusual for the time in that most of the strongest characters are women. I finished the second book on my way home from Tijuana a couple of weeks ago, just picked up the third the other day. I opened it’s pages and a photograph fell out. A photograph … a time capsule. A group shot of myself and seven friends from 1986, people I knew (know!) when I lived and worked at the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena. I look at my face, our faces, and see the movement in time to that which I see in the mirror this morning. Think of the movement in place and time of the 23 years’ span from then to now. I am still in contact with most of the people in the picture, even if our connection is somewhat more distant, more tenuous now. We are all of us in motion. It is good to remember to look, to see how the motion changes. How the motion changes us. I wonder where the Sisters were going.