thats my hand lying there in the shape of a sign language 'a' in the hand open to the ceiling that is white as the walls and the white rectangles.
Walker Art Center
April 18 2008
Not every moment can be caught on film. Memories are invisible yet visual things. Existing only in our mind they take on a life of their own shifting from a clear, recent image to a delicate, dreamy impression.... only a few key aspects remaining.
thats my hand lying there in the shape of a sign language 'a' in the hand open to the ceiling that is white as the walls and the white rectangles.
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2:56 AM
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an oval, not quite perfect- one with a corner. an oval of sunlight falls on his blue eye.
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10:47 AM
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smoke hovers in the pale streetlight's cast and the arm of a man i love rests at slight angle to the white column.
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11:30 AM
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Today I stumbled upon another photographer chronicling photographs not taken. His project is called Unphotographable. His reasons for doing this project are essentially similar to mine.... only he has been at it alot longer than I have. His style is markedly different from mine though. His text images are not as isolated as I aim to make mine. They include more visual and situational information and imply time passing. I would say that the descriptive words he uses are less objective than I make mine (or try to). Also, he will often comment on how things seem. These are not critisisms of his style, I find his style interesting, just a comparison to mine. . . . . . I could write more, but I think that instead I will boil down the difference to comparing a short story to a haiku; where he dissects everything that is happening, I simply pick out the key elements..... (or try to)...... or perhaps it is the difference between a long and a shallow depth of field......
This is one I particularily like: Corner Smoke Post Rainstorm.
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1:30 AM
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out of focus scarlet pink at left. behind, the profile of my father: the wrinkle of a slightly furrowed brow, squinting eye, elbow resting on a step, yellow measuring tape pulling down his pocket, is framed in vague lines of dull teal.
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7:55 PM
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Polly pink apron and leaning in for a kiss. camera flash.
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9:38 AM
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a couple in front of a white truck in front of the square. her brown suede jacket and sucking a red lollipop. eyeliner black but eyeshadow pink shimmers in the light of the passing cars.
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9:44 AM
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neighborhood street. leaves in mid-gust-of-wind. on the grey pavement just off center sits a rigid plastic, bright blue, slightly bent child's pool.
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7:46 PM
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just beyond her shoulder, gold silk and embroidery, her hands peel mangoes. a black pot simmers and a boy, polyester Puma soccer shirt, leans his head into a wicker basket.
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12:21 PM
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a long empty road crossing over the freeway. 3 rows of stoplights, all red. the sky scorched with clouds of an impossible pink. beyond the gas station, the skyline sits shining slate blue.
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11:26 AM
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enveloped in purple a mother sits on the wooden pew breastfeeding her baby. at her side a little girl bends backwards, eyes wide showing white, to let the top of her head rest on the pew seat. past the pew, leaning her left shoulder against the white the tall archway a young woman stands draped in sky blue. her jaw dropped but mouth closed. they all wear big furry black wool skirts.
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8:41 PM
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dark yellow tiles. three white walls. two women sit in white plastic chairs. wearing a simple maroon skirt the third stands off right, her hand on her hip, looking out. her mouth slightly open.
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1:45 PM
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12 feet off the ground upon wooden planks, a young, dark man leans back against a crossbar and looks out. the canopy of jungle leaves traces shadows on his face.
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1:29 PM
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Mom stands atop a flight of ancient stone steps. arms out, smile broad. her wide brimmed hat perches atop her head.
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12:58 PM
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in front of a gate a dusty blue car sits, its hood open. two men lean over it. to the left, a short man stands facing the road. a turquoise blue shirt. he raises his left hand and smiles.
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12:53 PM
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Rado, reflections of swinging fire on his face, raises his eyebrows and laughs.
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12:46 PM
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two girls walk away. down a white gravel road. a lanky tree with drooping red flowers overhead. the girl on the right in a peach strappy top. On the left she wears jeans, a white top and carries a true* blue umbrella.
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12:38 PM
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wooden house. fushia doors and windows. the horizontal bisecting line where the lavender and peach paint meet is fuzzy.
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12:35 PM
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girl on yellow bicycle in long shirt. tanish with bright (pink?) flowers. under a tree she pulls on the low branches with both hands. still straddling the bicycle she pulls and pulls.
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12:28 PM
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a group of men sit in front of a shack. maybe 10. on the ground. on steps. a big truck. wood planks create the sides of the truck bed. gravel beneath it and a pile of garbage. a man lies face down near a tire.
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12:22 PM
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to begin with, i dont usually photograph people, candidly. i cant seem to master that 'blending into the wall' trick of great photojournalists. Also, it makes me nervous. but that doesn't mean i don't want to.
when recently traveling in chiapas, mexico i found myself noticing so many photographs that i did not take. now i have noticed un-'taken' photographs in my life before, but this was excessive. i was in a new, different, curious place. almost everything seemed photoworthy. but i had been warned that photography is a very sensitive issue for many people there. so that, coupled with my nervousness for candid photography, kept my camera inside my bag more often than out. On a particular vanride as i noticed a particularily striking 'un-taken' image i realized that i was infact still 'taking' them, just not with my camera. I began to write them down. now i share them.... they may or may not have any impact on you. reguardless, comments are welcome.