I’m a sky watcher. I’m looking for aliens, but what I get from the experience is a rabid awe and excitement of something new, visitors from another realm. While the images I present are not meant to be aliens, I hope to capture the beauty and acceptance of the unknown.
I take photos to honor the beautiful moment that no one else notices. A psychoanalyst friend thinks that beauty is proof of God’s love. His God is kinder than mine; for me, beauty is recompense for being human in the face of God’s love, which surpasses my little understanding. Beauty shows the connection between inside and outside, the possibility of human wholeness in the indifferent world, the grace of getting a cosmic joke.
Jesus drinking coffee inside her heart, camellias reach, embracing the barreled ceiling with mystery. The cups line up with the sandwich plates; and she, a stranger, looks on as Picasso’s dove
flies blithely through the kitchen window, sent and invited.
Look out on a beautiful spring or summer day and you’ll see the delicate splendor of the flowers. Morning and evening sunrises and sunsets open up a whole new world with their intensity. What could be more perfect than an autumn day with exquisite red, orange, and yellow leaves bursting with color. The sea, the sky, and the landscapes with their formations and colors bring a sense of awe and admiration to us.
Beauty is an aura, a sensation that speaks directly to the soul. One does not experience a beautiful object, but the feeling of beauty. Experiencing beauty is being exalted by the perfection of the moment, and that perfection is created by the reaction of our senses and soul toward the artwork.
The very moment we realise the true nature of a thing, the thing becomes beautiful. When we don´t have to explain the reasons, why something or someone is aesthetically appealing to look at, we just perceive that they are.
More exactingly, in visual representations, notions of beauty emerge as much as from schooled and traditional foci as they do from private experience. Some artists replicate the lines, shapes, shading, and tones of classic or of Renaissance fare. Others fashion the optical equivalent of punk, reggae, or house music.
I became entranced and immobile, immersed in my sense impressions of the outer world invading the inner. It was much later that I began to love words and the way they could combine to form poems or stories. But for me, the image, and the other physical impressions of an object, the scent of a flower, the feel of a dog’s fur,
When I was little, my dad had our walls decorated with calligraphy scrolls featuring ancient Chinese poetry. He and my mom grew different-colored chrysanthemum in dozens of pots in our courtyard. On some crisp summer mornings, he would gather me and my sisters in front of our water lily pond he built and take photos of us. Beauty then was the elegance and serenity that were surrounding me and my family.
As a photographer I consider myself a street shooter–my photographer’s eye shooting an old building, rusted bridge, interesting faces or groupings of people and nature in all its forms. There’s a beauty in the texture, color, and subject matter that calls out to me and I’m never without a camera whether I’m out for a walk or a drive.
When I was a kid my mother gave me an old emerald ring. I found out that if I looked through the stone just right everything was turned upside down.
And for a moment, we as readers or viewers enter the artist’s world, which is our own, and we are filled with the wonder of that space. And by repeating these experiences, we expand and notice beauty regularly and discover that we each have the creative ability to express it ourselves.