I’m sipping from a mug of tea. It’s my favorite, Lapsang Souchong. Nothing has ever come close to the effect it’s aroma and smell have on me. They nourish ideas of comfort and invite detachment from the dark corners of the world to which my mind often wonders. The dark corners are the places my subconscious bids me to travel while my mind pulls me apart from them and proposes I never leave the comfort of my chair. Can uncomfortable armrests ever be the worst of my problems? I don’t think so. A life where uncomfortable armrests are a real issue isn’t exactly a life. Fuck those armrests.
I’m restless these days. It has something to do with recent events in my life. I’ve found passion again. I feel it in my blood. How could something so small have such a wide ranging effect?
It’s been years…
I have returned to my dire need of adventure. The Capa calls to me. So does La Vie Velominatus. And so does art, if you can call what I do art. I have started to because many people have called it that too, and I’ve been informed that it’s OK to name yourself that when it’s common knowledge that art is what you do and people treat it as such. Mind you, clients probably never will. But people, the good, bad and ugly. I had forgotten how the lack of comfort feels. I like it. The chair nags at my brain and i find myself holding a camera just because. The sound of the shutter is as romantic as it always was and I need to explore all the dark places of the world and bring them under the hard, judging light of my flashing judgement. I was never really a journalist. I always care, I always get involved and I always express a point of view. I’ve never really believed in Truth, just in points of view. I guess studying journalism taught me that one.
One day i may have the courage to photograph parts of my own life. My cravings and my needs. My loves and my hates. I’ve always avoided that. I never photograph love, and I rarely photograph friends. What could be harder than to lose those and still have your stills ready to watch and be watched. Memories change. Negatives don’t. They sometimes age with you but that seldom is enough. I fear this may be my biggest failure. Some day the adventure will take me to my front door. But once there what will i do?
There are many times I’ve though I should stop caring. About my subjects, about life, etc. I was sometimes close to thinking that’s what should be done because it prevents pain. Man, those times were stupid. There’s nothing better in this world than caring, even if it’s the stupidest thing you could do (it always is). Everything ends, and it mostly ends horribly but that’s the charm. One must care. Otherwise where’s the adventure?