I’ve been called an artist.
It’s been suggested that I paint. Believe me, I’ve tried. There are plenty of paints, brushes, canvases and paper in the closet. I’ve taken classes, courses, workshops. Trust me. I don’t have the necessary skills. And, that’s too bad. There are images in my head that I can never begin to capture with mechanical tools. I guess they’ll just have to stay there.
You see, I’m one of those who doesn’t believe that you can do anything. There are limits. There are talents. There is a special kind of drive that it takes to help talent grow. That’s how I became a photographer.
I can tinker with different kinds of software and create a unique picture. One that’s mine and does come out of my head. I’ve had people ask to tell them the “exact” steps I took to make something that I’ve published here. I can’t do that. I don’t keep written copies of all the moves that I make. Because I jump from software to software there is no continuous metadata trail. Besides, why would you want to copy my workflow when you could create your own?
The picture. The usual place. The telephone pole place. Since I’ve been laid up — thanks for your kind words, but this is a chronic problem that won’t go away with topical or over the counter remedies — I’ve been tinkering and teaching myself to “paint” with software that is designed to created water or oil or acrylic approximations. Those all look weird to my eye.