In the loch
Time hidden lay lost
Under this place of birth
Under your mind lies a tunnel
Under this stone salty darkness
Forgotten place of docks and ships
The start of a photograph is from a previous picture. There is no preconception, rather predisposition. I will usually return to a familiar place or one that seems familiar. I stand still or move slowly, feeling things like the impulse of shapes, the direction of lines, the quality of surfaces. I frame with my eye (sometimes with my hands) as the ground glass would frame. Nothing that one could reasonably call thinking is taking place at this stage. The condition is total absorption; the decision (a picture) is spontaneous … Ambiguity may be the clue, there is the material. and there am I intruding my private intent.
Lost Lonely and Lethal
I could never accept life as it was,
i could never gobble down all its
but there were parts, tenous magic parts open for the
I re formulated I don’t know when,
date, time, all that but the change
something in me relaxed, smoothed out.
i no longer had to prove that i was a man,
I didn’t have to prove
― Charles Bukowski
Time is an embroiderers’ thread,
Weaving words like a web,
Fraying the fabric of me,
Fragments sewn to my mind,
Dont let go,
Of the red.
Born in Calabria, Italy in 1929. Married at age 22. He spent 28 days aboard the Achille Lauro to arrive in Australia in November of 1968. Meet my nonno - Luigi.
The creative act lasts but a brief moment, a lightning instant of give-and-take, just long enough for you to level the camera and to trap the fleeting prey in your little box.