Following the third year of a holiday letter comprised
of my (increasingly complex) life via a (increasingly complex) year-in-photographs, I
wondered what it would be like to join the great experiment of 365 days of photographs.
I'm not a photographer,
I'm a writer. I'm a visual thinker, and if ever there was proof that a photo is worth a
thousand words, it would be the story a photo tells me, or in this case, about me.
Follow me on this adventure, where I
learn about photography, my ability to record my life, my dedication to something (I've
never been known for doing anything everyday) in my posts. I've also discovered I'm
learning about time, the history of it, and the odd practice of recording it, measuring it,
turning it into something tangible, and I'll record these explorations in the sidebar.
As always, feel free
to say anything. My experiment is not a spectator sport.

June 15, 2009

June 15 2009 The Triumph of Principles

It has not been an easy day. I do not want to write. I do not want to spend my time here right now. I awoke in the darkness in a sweat with a belly full of undigested food. I discovered an open door at the back of the house and in my feverish delirium I searched for the raccoons I was sure I heard moping about in the bedrooms. Having cured myself of said ailments, I awoke again in the morning malnourished and weak. I trickled the cure for this ailment into my system slowly, and forwent my martial study. I rested and got better. I pulled my son's room out of its child-created jungle and put it back together in the best pieces I could. Their bedtime has interrupted my progress. The remaining bits of energy I have today I need to use during sleep to pick up the rest of my immunities and healing.

There is no irritation like illness to swamp the mind with things that have yet to be done. The rain today was as weak as I was, not only did it barely speckle my patch-of-dirt that refuses to be my garden this year and taunts me, it did not thwart a trip to the metal scrap yard in search of materials for the artist, and as a field trip for the children and myself. The idea of pulling something out of nothing, fruit from my garden and art or utility from these discarded heaps of rusted steel, and me and my healing, this idea recurs today like bad imagery from an amateur novel. Emerge! it ridicules. The best power of emergence comes from within, and does not gape like white teeth starting with the title.

I did not know what I would end up writing about today, so I took my camera out and shot various pictures of the late end of my morning and reviewed them in the context of my day. I chose this photo of that teasing patch of dirt and the walkway I uncovered months ago in no little feat. Auto+zoom.

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