Water drops – on imitating

fuzzy thing and dropsOver the weekend I was messing around with the camera out in the country, experimenting and trying different things.
As I was framing and snapping and adjusting, I realized I was imitating Karen – realized there were photos of hers I had seen and been intrigued by, and as I looked through the viewfinder, I was semi-consciously trying to figure out how she did that
reflection treesAnd while failing utterly to get the same results, still I found I was teaching myself something via this imitation of a master.
Other moments it occurred to me I was trying to create an image like Sandra Bartocha’s images…
little wet sproutAnd again, failing completely. Yet in the process, little things were learned out about the angle, the blur, the light, the settings on the camera.

It has been almost 1 year now I’ve had this camera, my first digital camera.  We are still getting to know each other.

Mucking around like this in the rain, trying to capture something of the water and reflections and the glistening of water drops, working from an impulse of exploratory curiosity, fun as it was, I found the pictures I was taking bored me in and of themselves…
water drops, rainBut the  process of passing through these mediocre efforts was part of pushing towards something that might still be fresh and different and unique, that might interest me at least, even if no one else.

So then, back home, staring at the endlessly fascinating fish pond, I tried something a bit different –

water drops, orange fishTraining the hose onto the surface of the water, a process began of exploring the bursts of action and colour, of water as it met water…
sharp water drops, activeAnd wondering about the possible extremes of abstraction, I became curious and interested again…

sharpish water drops, active
blur cu water drops

Change

20130412-125935.jpgHe passed away two weeks ago.
Toni. Father to an 11-year-old girl who adored him, life partner to one of my oldest pals.
Serious change.
Talking to my friend on the phone, she sounded confused, told me not to bother coming into town.
I waited. Called her a week later. She told me they’d “be fine”. “Do what you wanna do”, she said.
I waited some more. Gave it one more week and called again. “The weekends are tough”, she allowed, “and I need a babysitter for a couple of days”.
So I came.

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His coat still hangs in the front hallway.
His things are everywhere around the house, as if he’s due back tonight.
I am sleeping in the front room where he kept his bird collection – they are still all here, and the lamp on a timer goes off at 5:36 every morning, prompting all the birds to begin singing at once a foot away from my ear.
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His daughter wants to keep all the birds, of course, but mom is not so sure how to take care of all of them. Which ones get which food, how much water.
Especially as now the orange one has had a baby, and sits warming the baby all day long.
Underneath is a tiny little pulsating body, just beginning to sprout wings.
Change persists.
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