Seattle Photos & A Poem By Rita Dove

Geometry

I prove a theorem and the house expands:
the windows jerk free to hover near the ceiling,
the ceiling floats away with a sigh.

As the walls clear themselves of everything
but transparency, the scent of carnations
leaves with them.  I 
am out in the open

and above the windows have hinged into butterflies,
sunlight glinting where they’ve intersected.
They are going to some point true and unproven.

Rita Dove

Best to break reality up into tasks, manageable, soluble; pushing us to the edge of one of many circles. After a few days, the dream city appears, glittering again upon the horizon.

A blue and white promise.

Seattle Photos & A Poem By Donald Justice-Low Light

Men At Forty

Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to.

At rest on a stair landing,
They feel it moving
Beneath them now like the deck of a ship,
Though the swell is gentle.

And deep in mirrors
They rediscover
The face of the boy as he practises tying
His father’s tie there in secret

And the face of the father,
Still warm with the mystery of lather.
They are more fathers than sons themselves now.
Something is filling them, something

That is like the twilight sound
Of the crickets, immense,
Filling the woods at the foot of the slope
Behind their mortgaged houses.

Donald Justice

Seattle Photos-Red Photo Practice, Seeing Red & A Few Thoughts On Color Attraction

Images 1 and 3 below, especially, read as illustrations to me, while image 2 acts as more of a bridge. As readers know, I tend towards quiet, observational photographs. There is a progression present moving outdoors-in, to a more intimate space.

Click through for more.

Edward Hopper practiced deep color complentarity in his paintings, balancing cool and warm. I first noticed his use of red here, and it got me thinking:

‘Red is powerful. Hopper’s using it with purpose.

This got me thinking a little further: ‘How much red is too much?

One ‘painterly’ problem: Red attracts the eye quickly, and William Eggleston went boldly red where other man had, perhaps, gone before.

Henri Matisse went full red one time, but there’s much more: Expert lines, curves, and composition (no focal point) make me feel at home. In fact, I think this domestically-minded Frenchman’s put most of his life’s purpose into his painting.

What’s the most aggressive, yet soothing, use of red I’ve seen consistently throughout my life?

Probably a Coke can, billboard, or truck. Check out this Arthur Meyerson photo with a Coke truck in context.

Another color problem: Color draws the eye quickly. Color is powerful. It snatches your eye and mind. The original black-and-white photographers thought color photography would distract, vulgarize, and commercialize; away from subject and composition, especially given the camera technology at the time.

Sacre bleu!

It turns out the old guys weren’t entirely wrong, as many advertisers and fashion photographers barf color all over the place. Some expertly upchuck. Others, alas, puke like Brits on holiday in Ibiza.

Kids with crayons and iPads, shock and awe pop-artist and portraitists, movie directors, and even ideologues making their propaganda, use color freely. We’re all being gradually exposed to the newer synthetic AI stuff coming down the pike. We are living, I believe, amidst an information revolution (storage, access, process and attention). I mean, unless you’re color blind, you see the world in color.

Remember that one sunset and her makeup and the city behind her all blended together?

On that note, Dear Reader, this has been one of the best approaches I’ve found so far along my later, more limited, photographic journey in life:

Beware of color theories. Theories in color photography are dangerous. The plain fact that there are so many of them proves my point. A color philosophy comes much closer to the truth. Beware of scientific color tests. They are as quickly outdated as a timetable. Their truth is short lived. Most theories are the result of an attempt to bring one’s practical experiences into a formula. There is no formula. There are only confirmations to formulas which one has already discovered oneself. I myself love to read theories without ever using them when working.

Hopefully, I’ve jarred something loose inside your head.

You do the rest.

The Case Of The Five Ties-Chapter Two

Chapter One. Chapter Three. Chapter Four.

Who knows how people come to haunt their own lives?

Warner had been in some kind of band, then out wandering the street for fifteen years. He’d emerge from time to time with ideas. Harry noticed three new crosses behind his left ear and a long, purple scar on his right hand.

‘It’s free if you guys want it. That’s what I’m saying.’

‘People meet every night. That’s free?’ Harry asked.

‘This ain’t it, Harry’ Wylie said, standing up. ‘You guys want a drink?

‘What I’m giving you. Something’s going on. Guys in Bremerton. The construction guys. Everybody knows.’

‘Knows what?’

‘I can’t tell you all of it. I don’t know. You sit there all night and they give you $75. That’s real fuckin’ money.’

‘What I’m tellin’ you is you get $20. For showing up. $50 for the night.’

‘That’s $70. I need a place, Warner. Names.’

‘You smell like shit, Warner. Don’t touch my desk.’ Wylie handed him a Red Bull.

‘I don’t have to be here.’ A long pause. Warner looked down at his feet. β€˜Oliveira.’

What’s he look like? Harry asked.

Brown guy. Glasses. Like a banker. Short hair. He speaks German too. Good English.’

And you guys work?’ Harry asked.

‘You ask around. You show up but nothing happens. They take one group of guys, and disappear. Like a Penske truck. Illegals. Then it changes.’

‘What changes?’

The place. You gotta know someone, then it’s somewhere else. But you gotta know someone.They pay out, man.’

‘German?’ Wylie asked, staring.

‘Yeah, it’s fuckin’ German.’

‘Get me in,’ Harry said.

‘Ronnie’s on 4th near the stadium.$500 now and $500 when we’re done.

‘$100′ right now and we talk when it’s done’ Harry said, handing Warner a bill. I’m good for it.

‘Tonight,’ Warner shuffled out staring at Wylie.‘You can’t come, asshole,’

‘Text me, Harry. I got like five phones.‘ He shouted from the hall.

‘Oliveira’s Portugese’ Harry said. ‘Popular name.’

There are Germans in Brazil. Supermodels.’ Wylie said.

‘Lots of places to learn German’ Kathy was standing in the doorway. ‘I’ll check AI, incarceration, sex offenders, construction companies. Brazilians just replaced my neighbor’s roof’

‘II’ll talk to Skoda. He does data privacy. Maybe he knows something.’ Wylie said.

‘Lots of companies unloading on the Island.’ Harry said. ‘Fifteen million is serious money.’

‘There was a strike last year. Remember the Asian front food company near Georgetown?’ I can’t remember the name….lots of fraud’ Kathy said walking out. ‘My friend knows someone who works delivery. I’ll look that up, too.

‘Who makes money on each shipping container?’ Who touches these containers?’

Who was Oliveira?

The Case Of The Five Ties-Chapter One

Chapter Two.Β Chapter Three. Chapter Four.

This morning, 6:53 am: Harry awoke to the cold.

Iridescent bits of glass covered his lap and hands.

Pain radiated from his cheek. One sliver of window hung awkwardly in the jamb. He stared at the green and white webs; his mind moving in many places.

His right hand fished into his front pants-pocket. The keys were there. Jesus Christ.

Three days ago: An email slid across Wylie’s desk and into the basket.

‘This is big. I hope I’m not right. Terminal 105 park 7 pm Fri.’

Two ropes of smoke rose dreamily from Harry’s cigarette towards the ventilation fan.

‘Could be a setup’ Wylie said.

‘Could be. Harry said leaning back. Maybe 20% on that. I’m not hearing much.’

‘You’re full of shit with numbers, Harry’ Wylie said.

Harry realized this was probably true (maybe 80%). The past few weeks had been filling the office with fear and exhilaration:

City politics…Harry’s coffee was cold.

‘Let’s take it. Someone’s gotta take it’ Harry broke the silence.

‘Your call’ Wylie smiled a small, enigmatic smile, lifting his feet from the floor and placing them back down.

One day ago: Five ties meant bad news. Probably the worst news….

Seattle Photos-Not On My Watch

Detective Harry: ‘Good light, nice drama. Way too much negative space. Don’t be afraid to put more in.

Read this poem and come back in a month.’

What’s this poem about? What’s this got to do with winter?

‘My tab’s due…time to go.’

‘Okay, Harry, all right…’

Blizzard

Snow falls:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down β€”
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes β€”
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there β€”
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world
.

–William Carlos Williams

Seattle Photos-Bus Stop Abstract

I’m getting some photos available as prints, mostly by request.

Imagine you’re in a hotel lobby; your flight boards in two hours. Your pre-brain-chip gaze comes to rest upon this beauty.

I never look around. This was a good trip.’ ‘Nice design.’

‘Wait a minute…is that…? Oh yes…I SEE NOW. Yes…oh no…I…..I must change my life.’

‘At least it’s not shit.’

Foreground: Bus-stop etching on dirty glass. Background: Hand-painted cafe wall in early-morning light.

Seattle Photos-Still Life

I’ve always been fascinated by light. Whenever I can, I read up and try to understand Feynman diagrams or George Gamow’s ‘The Birth & Death Of The Sun.’ Long ago, we bought laser-pointers and played around with the angle of incidence and the angle of refraction.

Weird.

Painters have to represent light on a 2D surface with geometry, materials and technique. It takes years of experimenting with colors and color-mixing. Most of all, artists have to have some kind of vision.

It can take months to make a single painting…

Photographers ‘find’ instead of ‘make,’ deciding where to stand, and when to click the shutter. If you can’t see it in your mind’s eye, you probably won’t ‘see’ a good photograph.

But, you can always get lucky.

Luck helps.