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Everything You Have


Over the steps.

Taking a walk.

Direction changed. Slightly.

This work is opportunistic. I go to the picture. Or, where the dog leads me. For those of you who are a little new to Storyteller, I post something called, “What the dog saw.” The series has no schedule. I just add to it when she finds a picture. She found this one.

So.

Here’s what I didn’t do. I didn’t over saturate the color. I didn’t add much in post production. And, I didn’t use a camera. 

Once I was amazed by the process. Smart phone. Snapseed. WordPress. Now, I think the whole thing is overused. Snap a shot, mess with it and immediately post it on some social media. Usually Instagram. 

Sorry to say this, but that’s not a photograph. That’s a snapshot. I’m going old school on this one. A photograph, no matter what technology used, is printed on paper.

That’s it.

Another Way


Different by degrees.

“All art is autobiographical.” “All meaning is made by the viewer.”

This little project may come to a quicker end than I originally thought.

Because.

I have no idea what this means to me. I’m fairly certain that it’s not autobiographical. It’s a little peaceful. Neither my work or I, thrive on a steady diet of this. I’ll work toward building a little portfolio of this gentle style, but it’ll have to be dovetailed with other work. Personal or professional.

Even with this picture, I did a little tinkering. Not so much that you can tell. But, the first two images of the series just looked too muted to my eye. So, I brightened things up. Just a bit.

Oh yeah. I’m awake way too early.

 

New Blooms


Blooming Lilies.

Unlike other regions of the country, we in Southeast Louisiana are into our second phase of new spring blooms. Some flowers have bloomed, flowered, died and now look like typical summer foliage. This has been going on since mid-January. We only had about four days of winter cold. We’ve already had many low 80 degree days.

I can hardly wait for summer.

We expect a fairly wet rainy season because already the gulf waters are freakishly hot. I remember the last time gulf waters were hot. I’m not going there.

 

In the Spring


Softly in the spring.

Spring is about change. Rebirth. Change.

Maybe.

All I know is that I’m going to make some changes. Some to me. Some to my shooting style. At least for what I am loosely calling the spring series. As you know, my general style is bright, high color, contrasty and fairly graphic. When I photograph something like flowers, I usually frame them very tightly. Then I work them in post production. That’s what I started out doing with this first spring series. Something happened. The wind blew and I moved to keep up with the picture and I found this kind of strange crop. I don’t normally chimp, but I wanted to see if the picture I thought I made was really the picture I made. It was.

It is more about the space in between than the flower, itself.

Aha.

Something a little different for me.

I set out to TRY to make more of them. I failed way more than I succeeded, but so it goes.

I’m staying off the streets for physical reasons. But, if the truth be told, I really am tired of photographing events like second lines, Mardi Gras Indians and even Mardi Gras itself. I think I’ve done what I can with those subjects.

If I was really, really deep into the culture I would see the little changes and different years suits would be a big deal to me. If I could find different angles for Mardi Gras that might help. But, I don’t know enough people to say, “hey, let me up on your balcony or on your roof.” The other day I realized I don’t very many people in the city. At least very well. Just call me an iconoclast. That’s why I live in a “compound,” behind a fence.

I’ve been sort of casting about for a quiet project. This might be it. The light has to be right. The scene has to be right. And, I have to be right.

Make no mistake. I’m not staying with this forever. I’m not a nature guy. I’m really not a flower guy. I just like what I like. Remember, I’m the guy who, when you ask what kind of flower is in the picture, I reply “a yellow one.” I’m really just clearing my mind for the next personal project. Whatever that might be.

I’m going to dispense with the photo technique for a while, except to say that for this series, it’s all in how I saw the image. There is minimal post production. If anything, I tune pictures down a bit. I want them to be soft and gauzy. If I wasn’t such a wimp, I’d actually do that in the camera.

You know how that goes.

Leaving 


Change. In the air. 

Spring came. Leaves fell. Seed pods fell. Pollen escaped from the pods. Allergies blew up. It’s bad. Real bad. Everybody is walking around sneezing, sniffling and coughing. Then the stuffy head stupids arrived. 

Nothing helps.

We hope for rain. It’s due later today. Maybe it will knock down the seed pods and clean the pollen out of the air. Or not.

The picture. It was made on a dog walk. Post production made it what you see. The color isn’t additive. It’s subtractive. 

And, Finally


Wildman John.

It’s not that I’m out of pictures of Super Sunday. It’s because I’ve used my take for a week. I may be boring you. And, the culture is hard to understand. Especially if you don’t live in New Orleans. Even though it doesn’t look it, there is a lot of ritual. A lot of protocol. A lot of ceremony.

So.

I thought that I would conclude with a little portfolio of pictures about one man who I’ve been knowing (as they say around here) for about five years. Wildman John. His suits are always very, very good. But, I think he out did himself with this one. Whew. He understands his culture. He sings. He dances. He walks up and down the street, greeting people along the way. Then he walks the parade route. As big as his suit looks, it is smallish and more traditional. Some Indians make suits that are about twice this size and have massive three-dimensional  components to them.

The pictures. Follow him around a bit over the course of the late morning and try to find the moment. Or, at least try to piece together enough pictures to tell a little story.

Pretty, pretty.