I’m a sucker for these places. There is nothing like an eroded sandstone beach to bring out the rock-sea-sky photographer in me. I have a grand time in shapely erosion. Yes, I know, there is no original statement I can make from this material. It’s all been done before, and how, especially here. The name of this particular beach: Weston Beach, at Pt. Lobos.
I work so hard to extract form out of complexity, to put myself in a difficult natural environment and try and tease something out of the mess. I finish with a kind of mental exhaustion and spiritual exhilaration. Then I get on this beach, with the layers of color eroded just so to suggest, well, anything you want. I point a camera, anywhere. There’s a composed abstraction. I move two inches. Another. And another. The light is the kindest light of all, fogbound and soft. I might as well be shooting fish in a barrel.
Since I can’t quiet the voice in my head that is yelling, "What are you doing this for?" I just give it license to prattle on, judgmental little art snob twit that it is, while I go have a grand time slumming on the beach making my mini-Weston-Bullock-White masterpieces. I know, of course, that they’re not masterpieces. I’m just having a fun time seeing cool forms and capturing the experience. Robin looks through the take that evening, and says, "You know, they’re not leaving me with anything.I’m used to your pictures having more resonance." Looking at the work, I’d agree. They’re as easy to look at as they were to take.
You can see a batch on my Flickr site.