Edward Weston

Jay Em No. 9 and a Treatise on Social Acceptance of Art

Jay Em No. 9

Jay Em No. 9

I had a wonderful, long, two-part chat with my good friend Melinda Green Harvey last night (check out her own blog here) about the meaning of photography and how we each move ourselves to higher planes of image-making. Continue reading

Stump, Chaffee County

Stump, Chaffee County

Stump, Chaffee County

One might think I’d spent much of my three weeks in the Colorado high country looking at trees, both living and dead. And that would be correct.

Poets have spent lives musing on trees, including Robert Frost:

“I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”
 
– From the poem “Birches”

Edward Weston, too, found deep muse in the arms of trees:

“Cypress trees, like peppers, do not repeat a family pattern, each one facing a different problem in battling wind and finding foothold…it breathes mysteries, and I know there must be fairies in the deep dark recesses…”

– From My Camera at Point Lobos

So too do I find romance, magic, and mystery wrapped into the swirling eddies of the nooks and crannies of trees, honored to march on in the company of poets, painters and photographers throughout the eons.