We are having a deluge. Storm system after storm system has been drenching us, and now the rivers are breaking flood records that are decades old. In my neighborhood, on a hillside well above any water, there is no impact, and I worked away on files from my recent assignments. After five hours my eyes had turned to goo, and I took a break to witness the weather.
My walk around Green Lake coincided with a break in the monsoon nature of this storm. It felt like an ordinary winter rainy day. I had encased my camera inside a ziploc bag—the opening taped around the lens hood, and holes gaffer-taped into position at the viewfinder and camera straps. It was crude, but it worked. Once again, I found myself drawn to the messiest and densest brushy areas. Why do I keep taking this picture? It is a fruitless path of inquiry—why are we attracted to any subject? In the simplest explanation, or justification, I am adding to a robust body of work. I like the complexity of these spots because they swamp any coherent attempt to organize them as a subject inside a frame. I have to rely on a fleeting, visceral sensation to know when to trigger the shutter. It feels like I am getting closer to something as I work an area. I take photograph after photograph until the sensation fades. Something happens in the interval, and perhaps there will be some unconsciously realized structure in this chaos when I review the images.
See them here.
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