Thank you, Donna, and thank you for writing. You’ve made me see this photograph in a new way. I see longing in it now, which I don’t remember feeling at the time I took it. Interesting. I’m always so concentrated on composition that I forget to think about mood. Maybe I feel the mood first but then blot it out to get the composition, exposure, etc., right, Maybe the mood can come back later—if someone helps me see it.
Don’t you think some inchoate sense of the mood invoked by a translucent curtain on a window overlooking a sparkling lake is what attracted you in the first place? But I know what you mean, one can get very hung up on the technical details of trying to get it “right.” You’re very interested in the formal questions and problems, I think. I am, too, and sometimes when I sort through my photos, I can see how certain ones probably won’t have a wide appeal because they don’t tell a story, along with being formally interesting. Your photo above has that pleasing abstract quality but also expresses a nice mood.
I can only hope that I experienced an “inchoate sense of the mood” in framing this photograph. I feel it now, but I don’t think that counts. And yes, you’re absolutely right: I am interested in formal qualities, and I find it difficult to be a visual story teller. On the other hand, I like to think about what Joel Meyerowitz said someplace: that one photograph alone doesn’t tell a story; it takes a series. I think that if you look at all the photographs I take as a group, they show that I’m in love with the physical world—down to minutia and the mundane. There is a deep story here. I was raised to believe (except that it didn’t take) that there is no physical world. My photographing it is both a rebellion against that teaching and an affirmation of materiality. Whew. But I still wish I could do more story telling with one photograph.
It’s interesting to think about how you come to do what you do, and have the aesthetic sense you have, different from everyone else’s. The idea of being raised not to believe in the material world is fascinating – it would have been really painful for me, too, as a sensualist. I agree with you about series, they’re very satisfying, and your photos are almost always well related to each other in that way. Thanks for your thoughts!
Romancing Reality 
I’ve been back to look at this a few times – I love this photo. It’s beautiful in itself and leaves so much to the imagination.
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September 24, 2016 at 12:58 PM
Thank you, Donna, and thank you for writing. You’ve made me see this photograph in a new way. I see longing in it now, which I don’t remember feeling at the time I took it. Interesting. I’m always so concentrated on composition that I forget to think about mood. Maybe I feel the mood first but then blot it out to get the composition, exposure, etc., right, Maybe the mood can come back later—if someone helps me see it.
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September 24, 2016 at 1:40 PM
Don’t you think some inchoate sense of the mood invoked by a translucent curtain on a window overlooking a sparkling lake is what attracted you in the first place? But I know what you mean, one can get very hung up on the technical details of trying to get it “right.” You’re very interested in the formal questions and problems, I think. I am, too, and sometimes when I sort through my photos, I can see how certain ones probably won’t have a wide appeal because they don’t tell a story, along with being formally interesting. Your photo above has that pleasing abstract quality but also expresses a nice mood.
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September 25, 2016 at 3:19 PM
I can only hope that I experienced an “inchoate sense of the mood” in framing this photograph. I feel it now, but I don’t think that counts. And yes, you’re absolutely right: I am interested in formal qualities, and I find it difficult to be a visual story teller. On the other hand, I like to think about what Joel Meyerowitz said someplace: that one photograph alone doesn’t tell a story; it takes a series. I think that if you look at all the photographs I take as a group, they show that I’m in love with the physical world—down to minutia and the mundane. There is a deep story here. I was raised to believe (except that it didn’t take) that there is no physical world. My photographing it is both a rebellion against that teaching and an affirmation of materiality. Whew. But I still wish I could do more story telling with one photograph.
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September 25, 2016 at 5:31 PM
It’s interesting to think about how you come to do what you do, and have the aesthetic sense you have, different from everyone else’s. The idea of being raised not to believe in the material world is fascinating – it would have been really painful for me, too, as a sensualist. I agree with you about series, they’re very satisfying, and your photos are almost always well related to each other in that way. Thanks for your thoughts!
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September 26, 2016 at 3:43 PM
You’re welcome, Lynn. It’s still a bit painful to talk about this aspect of my upbringing. Thank you for receiving it gently.
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September 26, 2016 at 3:46 PM