Right now, in this part of the northern hemisphere, it has been about as cold, and about as wet, for about as long as we will need to endure it. Give or take a week or so as we push clocks forward and bag those lighter evenings again, it will start to change, equinoxally (made up word, no really) speaking. I am still wearing layers - gloves, scarf, hat, boots; and just when my spindly fingers feel like icicles, the tip of my nose feels like a little cold pebble and I shake against a bitter wind, I register that there will be a day in four months time that I can't remember what it feels like to be this cold.
I photograph to remember feelings that will soon be alien. It provides good evidence of the journey, and helps paint life as it is with a balanced colour palette, rather than be sucked in by one, over-bearing Rothkovian hue. When we print in the darkroom, to make a good print we look for true black, true white, and a good range of tones in between. Thorough life well-lived has a rich range of tones just like that.
And I photograph to evidence objectively the life around me, wondering how the person in the photograph reaches true perspective without seeing what I see. Caught up in their picture, how could they be anywhere other than where they are?
This is one of the best gifts in friendship, that we strengthen our stakes for each other, pinning out the big picture objectively and remembering for better or for worse: this too will pass.
{Today's Soundtrack: Ray LaMontagne - Be Here Now}
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