Walk or Ride

The first photograph was put on FB earlier today. It got no reaction other than "vivid", then later, the usual, "beautiful". I took it down as yes, it was too vivid. I tried to take the vivid out. Problem was I took it originally on the vivid setting in the camera to originally bring out the rainbow. I wrote a long prayer analogy to the water running down the hill I was walking on down to the sea, at the speed of grace. The writing went unmentioned. I put the photo back tonight in the Metanonia album, giving the alternate title, the pathway of prayer. It too will go unmentioned. But there it is, the explanation.
The second is Col. Moores grave from the same day shooting back in 2012 in the Huntsville Methodist cemetery. There is some light reflection by the face that looks as if he is looking through a port hole. Something I just noticed tonight looking through the albums.
I have hundreds upon hundreds of photographs that have never seen the light of day. From a day of shooting, like today, over 200 shots, only one or maybe two make it to the FB. Less lately as in the past as I am growing daily more and more weary of the lack of response. Just not worth the effort I used to go to.
It is still a joy to get out and capture sky, earth and water, just less of a joy when so few share that joy.
They say, do something with no eye toward what people think. But, when you do something to minister to someone else, and it falls of deaf eyes, then the ministry is interrupted. That is why I tried to stress shares, but no one takes time. They do not care to take part in ministry.

OMg

here we go again. put your photography on other peoples pages and they will OMg you. put it on your own page and they will ignore you. never have i gotten a OMg, i wouldn't know what to do with an OMg. Make notecards and such? probably.
i am no photographer people. i am no writer either. judging by you. i do not give a OMg. i will do it anyway. i say over and again, you are driving me from here. it is the Salinger way. go underground. resurface long after your death. people will go OMg, who was he?

went over from buying more Epsom Ink to pick up Pearce and run several laps around the lake. Well, I ran a bit, mostly walked and enjoyed the scenery. took him home to resume printing. spent over 80.00 today on xL cartridges, since the regular seem to run through quickly. got the cyan and opened it and it was a 99, not a 200 the printer takes! Printing on hold until tomorrow! Trying to print out all the shots of the Jones farm in Trenton, nearly thirty. Jones grandson said he would take them, we shall see. Doing mostly 5x7's in case he reneges and i am left holding the prints.
he will like the oil i know. i retouched it, filling in all the cracks and such.

after taking Pearce home, went directly to Alligator Lake and shot this photo. Love the sun on the cypress and reeds this time of year when they are brown or golden. One lone coot. simplicity. the mountain type cloud i took from various spots along the drive home.

OMg.......

Work for the Night

The prints from Jones Farm on the  computer, edited and ready for printing. I took the old painting from the late 70's and went ahead and touched it up with oils and put a layer of protection on it. The years have cracked the paint and chipped in places, fortunately, not on Mr Jones face. I was able to pretty much blend the new in with the old without too much obvious manipulation. I wasn't going to mess with it but decided it would look better if I did.
I am putting off the printing as the day is warm and I would rather be outside, which I have, raking and transplanting plants and tidying up the back yard. The chickens do a real number on the yard, scratching up every square acre in search of bugs. In pulling weeds, there is a certain weed, looks almost like a mint, small, that when pulled, stings you worse than a nettle. It has been over an hour and the numb fingers still tingle. One potent little plant.
I also plan to print more photos for Saturday's Gallery Sidewalk sale though I have too many already for people to choose from. I always feel though, I do not have enough of this and that, and am always guessing as to what will sell. I will re-print the four Rick and Kim purchased and see if they are yet popular. Then the circle church, that too. Then the rivers. Then the Olustee. Then the butterflies. On and on.
I re-posted the rainbow up on Blueberry hill along with the little essay, Walking on Water. I can hardly believe that I wrote it, though I had no other persons name on it, which I do if it is not mine. I liked it, but again, no one responded in any way. Only Melissa with the terse "Vivid". And I wonder as I wander.

Abandoned Pathways

Low and diminishing return upon investments. Investing time and energy and effort into attempting to strike a chord with an audience determined to get along without me. Eight to ten responses and responses of nice,pretty leave something to be desired. Then there are the I don't get it's, be clearer.
My interest is more in the writing than the photography, the photography mostly being a way to illustrate a thought. One recently made a useful comment. Rosemary has been a help in this area, offering input. I cannot get much from pretty, nice, beautiful, wow.
Even Susan in her same oaks and lamps and sunsets night after night get's quite the input. I do not like to play a same theme again and again. One theme is my constant moaning and complaining over the Facebook and blogger friends. There are about two dozen faithful, but I do not go beyond.
I will say it again until for some reason I am tired of saying it. My fellow photographer friends get share after share and comment after comment. My own friends share his stuff.
It begs the question, which no one is telling, yet in a way everyone is telling, your stuff just ain't worth the sharing on the level of your fellows. Get over it. Put up or shut up.
Tomorrow I shall try and do something that will get me UP.

Saturday I will have prints at the gallery for the yard sale. I am putting them in painted wash tubs that look like watermelons and fruits. I may bring the gourds as well. I will have the painting for Mr Jones coming over from Panama City from a hunting trip to purchase his grandfathers painting and other photographs of the home place. I thank Melissa for this, in that she put me on the You must be from Trenton page.
Old girl friends rock.

Anyhow, the word is UP....

Bone honed

Olustee coming this February. Always a favorite event for me. They want me to volunteer with the gallery tent in the park for two hours on a Friday or Saturday. Show two works. Maybe, i will print up two 8x10's with poetry, one the poem I wrote on Olustee. Cannot hurt.
Today is Feb. 3rd and already I have been to Home Depot to get some varnish to cover the old oil of Tom Jones father I am selling to him Friday for a low price of $100. The grandson of Mr Jones also wants prints I took in August of 1976 on the home place in Trenton. He said he had no photographs of his grandfather. I am sure this all means much to him. I hope so. I only had three of Mr Jones, amazing, as today, I would have taken hundreds with digital.

Barn Storming

A man in Georgia messaged me on the Lost in Florida Facebook page. He said he travels Georgia and North Florida photographing barns and they are rapidly fading away. Well, one thing that certainly isn't in any dire strait of soon fading are the growing army of photographers covering every inch of the countryside in search of said barns.
I feel at times it was just another unnecessary brick in the already tall wall to make another such page devoted to such in the Lost in Florida Facebook page. Just last week this From Far Away or was it Old Florida or one of many such pages I saw invaded my "territory" and photographed an old house I frequently pass. They said it was in Columbia County, it was Union. They speculated who lived there. Another wrote that it was not a house but a store moved to the current location by Mr Croft from Lulu. And so this photographer who wants to sentimentalize everything was soundly picked apart. I suppose, get your facts straight before posting would be in order.
Point being, there is a plethora of such photographers capturing these old buildings before what I called the Termite people come along to tear them down for their grand homes, where they use the old wood on the walls and the floors. To the land owning, well-heeled and settled go the spoils of the past.
I am just trying to point out nice places to become lost in, yet the photographs that garner this most "hits" are the old buildings. So, I suppose we haven't reached saturation accompanied by boredom point yet, but it is coming, it is coming.

The Scalding of a Stokes

When I posted this photograph of me in Sopchoppy tonight on my mothers page, Meme Clara Stokes, it occurred to me this is the only known photograph I have showing my bandaged left arm. I would have to consult my mothers dairies if they go that far back to date it, but somewhere around two and three.
I was alone in the kitchen, there was a corded coffee pot on top of the stove, the water boiling. Out of curiosity I pulled the cord and the water came pouring down onto my left shoulder, scalding badly my entire left arm, chest and neck. One splash even made a scar on the right inner bicep.
My mother, teaching at the time, took a leave of absence to keep me. Korean war burn procedure was to wrap burns, not the modern day method of no bandages. It made the scars much worse, permanent.
I am a smiling little fellow here, unaware or non self-conscious. It was only toward early adolescence that I began to shy from not wearing a shirt while swimming, or allowing anyone to see the scars on my arm and shoulder. When I would have to show it to people, I cringed how people would do the OMG and all. The older I got, the greater the embarrassment. I recall in Monticello while in the 3rd grade at a summer basketball program. I prayed I would not be on skins team, of which I was. By high school and wearing the basketball singlet, I was pretty much over it, but it had a profound affect upon my personality.
The withdrawal, the shyness, the secrecy, etc., all in a small way attributed to the scars.
And now, even though I am not totally at home with the scars, I never will be, I now wear them as a sort of tattoo badge of me, who I am.
The best news to come from it was the doctors in the day and their pessimism saying I would never be able to use the left arm. That was proven wrong by the fact I was left-handed and enjoyed a certain level of ability at being one who could draw and do things minute and detailed.
And that is the rest of the story.

Have a good time

Up early and out in the foggy, raining morning to Watertown Lake. It was raining too hard to get out so I returned home. Meant to get umbrella but left again, forgetting it. Back at lake, about four miles away, the rain was slacking. Took a few shots of Martins darting over the surface in the fog. From there went into town and by lake Isabella where I took these three ducks, following along with them as they walked into the water. Came back home. Cleaned house. Watched Kentucky basketball. Going to Winn Dixie after the game.
Wrote the poem about the girls of Forest, Mississippi in my youthful teen days when I would spend summers there with my uncle letting me use his GTO. I had to be at least 16 in order to do that. Made friends with one of those old friends and was able, via my cousin Joe Bradford, to see pictures currently of another. I had to say they aged much better than I have.
It was true in the poem that I wound up in New Orleans, missing an exchange in Meridian. But it was going out, not coming back. Poetic license. It was a take off on three songs, Cat Stevens, Morning has broken, Wild World and Lou Reed, Take a walk on the wild side, one of the girls favorite high school songs.
Between my Aunt Irene trying to match me up and my Uncle, who was the principal at a junior high school, knowing all the girls, I was in a young fellow heaven.
The Miss Congeniality was before my time, but then again, a metaphor, artistic license.

Journey into obscurity

So what if you do not understand my meaning, my journey into the obscurity? Dust off your living word that spells it in the modern vernacular idiom of the day. That is much,much easier than wondering what King James meant by the obscure, antiquated idiom of the past. Some are prone to tune into a shall we say, the secret chord that was played before the Lord, not the clanging symbol easily heard.
Say what you mean, mean what you say. Speak clearly, your actions are confusing me.
No thanks but thanks. I am one that shuns the white-wall austerity. It is in my bend to filter my words through the stained-glass, bending such blinding light, diffusing it, sending it scattering. Why would you lay beneath a blazing sun and burn? Even you apply the screen.
This life is as through a veil, a depression blue glass at best. Yet you want the unfiltered light. You want
the clear meaning of everything. Nothing a mystery. Nothing of magic. Nothing of poetry. Boring.
I have no words for you. Besides. You would not understand me clearly. Can I say it more plainly? Yes. But I choose not to.


Moving on....

Today in my banality I am relishing being able to print again, even though it cost 83.00 for the Epsom printer.It so far does an adequate job. I have printed, matted and put sleeves on about seven today.
I await the business cards to attach to the back of each, then I will take them to the gallery for everyone to flip through at rapid pace. I was blown away yesterday watching Herb, the retired lawyer photographer, going through the prints quickly, quickly, looking at only a few, then setting them down, never commenting.  I am not sure I could take sitting under a tent at some show and watching this go on all day long. It was as if he was going through legal documents. As Steve Coleman, the Australian photographer said, we want our photographs, our work, to cause one to pause, to connect, to speak. Clearly, mine did not speak.


Or...

Could it be that Herb represents the many, many who simply do not operate upon the secret chord level, but upon the stark, non-obscure surface? I would probably say so. His work does not speak to me. I do not care if he uses film and develops his own. He can afford to. Many are the artists in the gallery, doing it out of hobby or a way to spend retirement or husband's money. A few, I do not claim I am one, hear the secret chord. I would want to be in that company.

In OBSCURITY.

Printer Peace

The day of my 21, 535 and nine months upon earth began with a cup of coffee and cereal and a ten o'clock journey to the Gateway Gallery to work Ginny's shift of 10-2. The previous night I had worked on and off most of the day gathering my 8x10's, 25 of them into mattes and clear sleeves, the rest loose, to take to the gallery for a one day sale of 20.00 each. I placed it on Facebook and it seemed promising as soon Rick Bringger, my best friend arrived and he soon thereafter purchased two.
We sat about some and Ken, who was a woodworker at 84, but not looking it, a retired industrial arts teacher, who was in the gallery to volunteer as well, got out his hand-crafted dulcimer with the birds carved and all. He was rusty but played two hymns, I got out the harmonica, but my key was wrong and it just sounded bad. Rick beat upon a glass jar.  Good  jam session.
Well, that wound up being the only sale of the day. In all, I sold four. Two more to Kim, who is our Art League Events person. I could not print hers until an afternoon of trying again to make the Kodak 3250 work, cleaning the heads again. Melanie said she needed something printed and so I went online and ordered from Wal-Mart for 59.00 an Epson 301. I got to Walmart to pick it up and they had none. The website let me order. I was aggravated. I went to Office Max and they did not have the 301 but the next step up for 79.00. Finally got it set up about dark something and printed out the two for Kim and some others to experiment with the printer.
I still want to get a pro quality printer for around 400.00 but again, on a budget and have to skimp.
Birthday wishes on Facebook were steady. I tried to respond to everyone.
Posted several photographs and still I am getting no responses or shares like the one Suzanne posted on my sight and all the comments. I like comments more than likes, for perhaps sometime in life someone will say something useful beside beautiful or wow or nice.
It was also interesting to see a few folks looking at the photographs I had in the gallery, flipping through them rapidly, stopping at about six in and moving to something else, clearly not interested. And one was a photographer(lawyer), which probably says much....
We are that way though, flip,flip,flippant.....

Printer Profanity

All I wanted to do was print one print. I had matted and sleeved 24 and I was going to print just one. I had purchased the new ink. I installed the new ink in the Kodak all-in-one 3250. I turned on the Print and out came a blank page. Over and over I tried everything. Cursing as each came out blank. Took out the print head and cleaned it was rubbing alcohol and q-tips. Nothing. Emailed trouble shoot to Kodak. 24-48 to reply. New head another 40.00. So the day has been squandered trying to print just one print. I have 50 five by sevens I wanted to print, mostly butterflies, but that will have to go onto hold.
Saw in the interim that Kim, Melanie's sister was going through my SmugMug photographs, asking Devan if she liked a purple photograph I had from April 2012. Nice to know she did not care to contact me. Maybe she will. Probably though just order through SmugMug. I used to have it set up so I could make some money off of prints, but it was costing me 250.00 a year and no one was ordering. Again, a loss. So when I suspend it, what do you know, orders. I could just go into a fit but I will try and suppress the frustration. Enough of that in other areas. Hard times come again no more playing on Pandora. Fitting.

Lime Time

At the age of three, far from me, are you still remembering me, attempting to get a message to me?
Know at fifty-nine, I am trying, not to forget the time, when we would write with the color lime.

Tomorrow my grand-son, I will have another birthday, and it seems, for me, time is slipping
further along, far from your ability to catch up with me
I have tried all I can do to slow the pace, to stay back in the pack, allowing the fleet to take
the prize, knowing greater rewards, I was told, was not to the fast, but the slow.

But no longer do I know, I am weary with the running, the writing, the trying. I could deciper the
scribbling once in time, I knew why the lime was the color, without words we did much speaking,
but now, now, I am just keeping these things within, for it seems such a grim mockery,
to have you taken from me

And someday they say, you shall again come my way. I shall have the lime cut and look forward
to again seeing you pucker, recalling the time, you liked the lime.