With a pen and camera
According to noted author, Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc, “we wander for distraction and travel for fulfillment.” I suppose combining both then becomes photography. There are distractions that are worth photographing and there’s a sense of fulfillment when I travel. It could be far flung or just around the corner. In either case, both distractions and fulfillment find a place in what you see, hear, feel and smell during your promenades.
We wander for distraction, but travel for fulfillment.
Joseph Hilaire Pierre René Belloc 1870-1953
*Title of song from the stage production of Phantom of the Opera, with due respect to Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber, Mr. Richard H.Z. Stilgoe and Mr. Charles E. Hart
This requires a short preface. Currently underway is a long-standing project to repair the viaduct that transports drivers north and south on I-91. It requires the replacement of span supports, expansion joints, drains, electrical conduit and more. A lot more. These first 2 images were taken with a telephoto lens, a 300mm, and it brings one closer to a detail or two, in this case a glimpse of workers, the newly placed steel beams, etc.
The next 2 images offer the same perspective but with a 50mm lens, which represents one’s normal field-of-vision.
Yes, it’s important to appreciate the finer details of many things, but sometimes seeing the big picture can add immeasurably to our understanding of what needs to get done.
“It’s not what you get, but what you think you’re getting…” Carlo Centeno
I‘ve said and used that one epigram countless times when teaching, when conveying nuances about branding, attribute positioning and when attempting to make sense of features and benefits not only in marketing, but across all that is Life, mine and others.
The holidays are tough for many. I’m not alone in this. Funny how art, music, literature, et al have a way of refocusing one’s POV. That POV may be for one moment, but it’s enough to shake you and pull yourself together to help find the best things within the moment at hand. And “best” does not have to be anything grandiose; small gems can be just as grand.
So on those days, when I think I’m getting blasted by the commercial beasts of the season, I remind myself of my aphorism above and recall the lyrics to this song, “Watching the River Run,” a timeless salve created by Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina.
If you’ve been thinkin’ you were all that you’ve got
Then don’t feel alone anymore
‘Cause when we’re together then you’ve got a lot
‘Cause I am the river and you are the shore
And it goes on and on, watching the river run
Further and further from things that we’ve done
Leaving them one by one
And we have just begun, watching the river run
Listening and learning and yearning to run, river, run
Winding and swirling and dancing along
We passed by the old willow tree
Where lovers caress as we sing them our song,
Rejoicing together when we greet the sea
And it goes on and on, watching the river run
Further and further from things that we’ve done
Leaving them one by one
And we have just begun, watching the river run
Listening and learning and yearning to run, river, run
Life is full of juxtapositions. My favorites tend toward the contrarian ends of range or spectrum. This particular example is not only one of color, but that of seasons as well. Warm versus cold, color versus monochromatic, wet versus dry, autumn into winter.
Some call it a creative block. With credit to Franz Kafka, I feel a lot like a chrysalis because there’s something in me dying to get out, to be expressed and heard. How many times have we sat [or stood] at our work stations wondering how-in-$%@!!-name can we get something done. Where are the words, the concepts, the visual elements that when properly assembled, delivers the key message? The message can be one of benefit, of productivity, of prophylaxis, or of exclusivity. You get the idea.
Of course, all of this is figurative, but I would say that the photo of the tunnel suggests that I can see a “way out,” but I’m a bit unsure of how to get there. I’m inside the chrysalis, evolving, developing a collection of ideas, hoping to create something altogether different if not unique.
When I first saw this wonderfully creative piano, melancholy hit me. I love the energy and imagination in its installation. However, seeing the keys made me think of days past when I just about played every day. I went through some photo files and this image crossed my screen. It was taken at the Paradise City Art Festival in Massachusetts. Then the proverbial light bulb went off.
Our upright piano, one we’ve owned for decades was a lovely gift from my mother-in-law. But like many things mechanical, especially those made of wood, the instrument became harder to keep in tune, notwithstanding the sticky keys in the scale that begins middle C. Our grandsons now “play” with this piano. Literally. Trucks, a plastic hammer, puzzle pieces, blocks and small enthusiastic hands have travelled the keys. Those small hands make the most discordant of chords, but at least there’s a type of bang-bang-bangbangbang kind of rhythm in the effort.
The epiphany came to light a few short weeks ago [pun intended]. I had asked the president of the local music community school if I could use one of their piano rooms to practice, this during my lunch hour. Eileen is an empathetic, enthusiastic and erudite person; she was kind enough to grant permission. I’ve started playing again and recalled reading an article about the brains of piano players. The one thing I’m focusing on here is the fact that playing an instrument can really help one’s thinking. Perhaps it’s why I’ve longed to play again, yet I really like playing for the sheer love of it, for playing and feeling from heart and soul. I have no evidence that shows improvements to my memory, problem solving or time management, which is fine with me. I’m more right-brained anyway.
For me, playing a musical instrument engages me in therapeutic and cathartic ways.
If you’re curious, you’ll find my most recent post here.
In the 1978 movie, Heaven Can Wait, there’s a whimsical scene showing souls boarding a plane destined for heaven. They’re all adults, quietly and in orderly fashion waiting their turn to be checked on a list before taking the stairs. If I was to peer through a special window, one that would allow a real-time glimpse of say, a staging area, these 2 images represent what I’d see.
Why so barren? Nirvana has no time: no early or late or anything resembling the way we measure time passing. How can you measure a concept or notion that has neither a start nor an end? What I’m really saying here is that while heaven or Nirvana has no clock, we do, and the barren quality of these images can mean several things, each a statement to our genuine condition as human beings. To wit:
Frankly, if I chose another moment to peer through that existential, real-time window, I’d probably see children. They’re the ones who have the least amount of pretense. They are the real innocents of our civilization.
Carlo Centeno 