Fragments From Floyd

I slow down often when we pass this old barn on Georges Run. I sits in the middle of what once was pasture, but now is somebody's yard. It serves no purpose that I can tell other than to catch my eye--for reasons I had never given much thought. But this once, I stopped with my camera, while the neighborhood dogs barked and curtains pulled back in distant windows to see what the fuss was all about. If they'd asked me why I was bothering to take a picture of this useless barn, I'm not sure what I would have told them except that I liked the way the light from the east hits it in the mornings.

Now, after being able to hold this image still before me, I see things missed at 40 miles an hour. This is a sight worth seeing. It is because of the light, but it is also the story you can read in the skin of the old place. It tells of making do. One section of wall rots away, you take pieces from somewhere else less vital and patch it--whatever it takes to cover the empty places, get the job done, keep the good critters in and bad ones out. Appearance is nothing, function is everything--the chickens could care less what keeps out the weasels. That this pragmatic history makes an interesting pattern of shapes, textures and light is only an accident of rural economy.

The question of why a photographer's eye is drawn to its subject is an appropriate focus for this very day. Five years ago on April 20 I got my first digital camera. One of my first subjects was spicebush--to which I've recently returned. One year ago today, I got my current SLR digital. Yes, I remember these anniversaries as significant markers in my life. For more than half of it, the lens of a camera has been a way of seeing, feeling, remembering. And so when a new one comes (my current is only my third), so does a new vision of ordinary things. Once, every picture was a very private experience. Most images were quickly hidden in a drawer or slide tray, out of sight and mind. Now, the very vision that meets my eye I show to you, sometime within minutes. Being able to 'say' what I see in this way is a blessing of our times for which I am most thankful here on this anniversary.