Naomi and I went out to Pemaquid Point on late on Sunday to watch the storm swells. While the place is always the same—the land sliding into the water which stretches out until it meets the sky at the horizon—it is always hypnotic.
Category Archives: Meditations
Deep Winter
A snow cover salt marsh in Bates-Morse Mountain Conservation Area in Phippsburg, Maine. Click on the image for a larger view.
Meditations: The Structure of Sound
I have always loved music. The complex forms and structures of the sound amazed me. Like many, I bought records—those black vinyl disks. It is amazing that the single, spiral channel cut into that vinyl could replay all the textures and notes in a symphony. This is what a record looks like under a microscope. The music is in the black channel.
December Forest
There is this time when you have spent the day hiking, when you are returning to your car under the fading light of day, that is so peaceful and quite. The warmth of the setting sun can be seen through the trees and the forest has a quiet light. Your body is satisfied with the day’s exercise. The scent of the forest subtly permeates the fresh air. The sounds of the world are mute. I like this moment.
Forest Spirits of Fall
The days of late fall are short in Maine. There is a point after the sun dips below the horizon when the deep cobalt sky of winter is the only light to penetrate the forest. The bole of the trees luminesce like bleached bones or rising spirits.
Germany 1968
I was going through some old film and found a picture of my family from 1968—the smart-looking guy in the green wool hat is me. As a photographer, you are always working in the moment, in the present. To see an image from another time and connect that point to where you are today is odd. In what sense is that person me; in what sense is he a faded shadow of who I was. At least, I now have better sweaters.
Below the Surface
Click on the image for a larger view.
Late Summer Storm
Late August and early September bring storms. As the sun sets, they transform into amazing Baroque creations just waiting for cherubs or a chorus of angels. Seldom do they pass without divine signals of light and sound. Click on the image for a larger view.
Memories
I have been meditating on memories and genealogy. I am from a generation that broke away from the extended family structure. Over time, I have inherited objects from my grandparents and great grandparents. I have heard stories about them. The few memories I have are fractured and distant. All of these people are now dead. What remains are these objects. This image is from this work in progress.
This is a small vise from my maternal grandfather, a boat builder from Nova Scotia, Canada. My memories of him are cursory: a short man, a quiet man, a stern man. I don’t remember talking much with him. I have one memory of playing with him when he used the handle of his walking stick to trip me up. We repeated this game for several minutes: him catching my ankle, and me falling and laughing.
