garrison beau scott

Some time ago, Rolfe Horn gave me a copy of Bill Jay’s treatise on contemporary photography entitled Occam’s Razor. And only now have I begun to read it in earnest. I would be embarrassed that it’s taken me years, plural, to crack the cover, but I am a charter member of the “Better Late Than Never” club and will ease any chagrin I might have felt at coming to Bill Jay’s party so late after the initial invitation with the knowledge I might not have been ready until now.

The tenets of what he has written, what I have read that is, have to a certain extent, rung true with me in years past, especially the following passage:

“The fact of the matter is photography cannot bear the intellectual weight with which it is fashionable to burden it. Photography is not an intellectual game, but an emotional response to charged living.”

An emotional response to charged living.

There are only so few moments when I feel more charged at life than when I’m out taking pictures. Lives being born, joined, and celebrated in memory to name a very select few, and so I’ve felt what Jay has said, and greatly admire the way he’s said it.

But it’s his view on subject matter vs. the “self” that’s taken me 38 years to finally grasp. His argument rings so true, much in the way a bell first struck fills the void of the silence that preceded the act. There I was, happy in the silent pursuit on who I was as a photographer, thinking the word “I” was the thing that mattered. And all along I had the sentence incorrect. It should read, “What am I as a photographer?” Key word being, “what.”

I wish I could sum up his take on this issue as neatly as I did with the part about photography being a response to charged living, but this concept of self vs subject, at least to me, is just too big for a simple paragraph, and so I highly suggest picking up a copy of the book, published by Nazraeli Press. You can order the book on Amazon, but it’d be so much more fun to go this route.

More than a few wise people have told me that life is about balance. Some have gone even so far as to say it’s a balancing act, but that has connotations of a high-wire, a long pole, unicycle, and bowling pins perched precariously on a nose. My doctor says it’s about moderation, and there’s probably the reason college students don’t go see the doctor.

The Chinese, I think, describe this as the Yin and Yang, which is fitting as it was Winnie the Pooh who taught me the way of the Tao. Something heavy, something light. Is it any wonder just about everyone likes sweet and sour shrimp? Well, any way, here’s a little Tao for you.

So today is World Toy Camera Day. Is there a parade, and why exactly did they choose to throw this party on a Saturday when we already have the day off? Note to organizers, do it on a Monday. What better way to celebrate taking pictures with toy cameras then by getting out of work on a Monday? None, I tell you.

Not that I should complain, after all, I celebrated World Toy Camera Day yesterday. I know what you’re thinking, it’s like those kids down the street who always opened all their presents on Christmas Eve. What’s with that you say? Well as it so happens, everyday is World Toy Camera Day is this here life of mine. Except today, today is World USC vs. Notre Dame Day.

But yesterday was quality time with the Holga, tripping around a foggy, rainy Central Massachusetts to parts previously unknown, I’ll post once the film is souped. And to all of you purists out there, celebrating this day as it’s meant to be, I eagerly look forward to the efforts. You know who you are, but to you dear reader, here’s a few links…~from here to infinity~, gotreadgo, and don’t forget t e r r o r k i t t e n.

Growing up in Southern California, complete with grandparents that redefined the concept of doting, well, we went to Disneyland. A lot. My grandfather and I had a favorite ride, Autotopia, where you would get into a car and drive along a course that wove through Tomorrowland. He’d always let me drive, even when I couldn’t see over the steering wheel, and would laugh with delight whenever I crashed into the car ahead of us, or were crashed into from behind.

It really wasn’t driving, as the cars were on a track and the only real control you had over the car was stopping and starting. If one was so inclined, they could take their hands completely off the steering wheel and just step on the accelerator and make it through just fine.

And I’m wondering now, thirty and change years later, and my shotgun grandpa no longer with us, what if we just take our hands off the steering wheel? Would it be just as fun to bump along on the track, crashing into and being crashed into the cars that are on the track with us? Or is that why we pay admission to theme parks, because life isn’t like that? Though sometimes it feels like it.

When it does, I try to remember my grandfather’s sage advice when it came to those cars in our way, “Ram ‘em!”

Here’s another from the Bowdoin Fields series. I’ve just recently finished scanning, spotting, sizing and ordering the ten images I’m going to use for an upcoming “Featured Portfolio” on the web site. Announcements will be made, links will be sent, and babies will be kissed.

Is it too early to start drinking?

The more time I spend with these images, the more I’m liking them. At first they were merely the result of an exercise in how to occupy one’s time when the person with the car keys is gone for 45 minutes and you’re 3 states north of home with nothing more than a Holga and a few rolls of film. But as I’ve said, I’m beginning to enjoy them for more than just a creative diversion. They might actually have a modicum of merit as pictures. But maybe that’s the drink talking.