Photography Thinks
So, picking up where I left off. Been sick. Recovered. Back to still life from the Golden Age in the Netherlands.
Oranges. Make you smile. Symbols of good fortune. Skulls to remind us all we are mortal. And some flowers to lighten up our lives. But without a targeted medication, DEAD.
So, I attended a Headshot Intensive Workshop orchestrated by Peter Hurley. Worked my ass off, as did all the others. Two days of lectures, shoots, looking, learning and reflecting.
I was the only attendee who shared prints. Most just showed on the back of their phones. I wish everyone printed. Photos are a truer version of the art of photography. They feel better in your hand. Don’t get lost on the phone. Become more special when framed and hung. And you can get nearer or farther away, feeling the warmth and meaning of
Martin Parr died, leaving the photo world short two eyes. https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2025/dec/07/martin-parr-obituary
I am guessing he took the same meds as I take. This blood cancer shit is pretty scary. You don’t know how well you are or how sick and then you die.
Mr. Martin, aged 92, still drives a car and still wants to look dapper. Lyric clips him into shape, smiling with every gently swipe.
When I told him I was 78, he called me a baby. I disagree. “You are Old Old; I am just Old!
So, you know I am a portrait photog who shoots people wherever I find them. The accent here sits on the “find”. Some people don’t want to be photographed. Some do it reluctantly only after I apply some people skills. Some readily cooperate and even pose. I will write the next few days about recent experiences and include portraits.
Yesterday during a photo walk with my photo friend Art, this woman with a rollator cruised by. I asked if I could take her picture, holding up camera. She asked the traditional question, “why do you want to take my picture?” I said, “…, because you are beautiful.” She said yes and I shot.
I gave her my card and told her if she emailed me I would send her a file. She said she wouldn’t because she gets too many emails and besides, then I would have her address. Well, I pointed out, “if I were going to steal your identity, you have my card with my picture and address.”
We parted. All I am left with is the image.
So, a year has passed and I have not been back to the hospital, given blood or had a loss of consciousness. Have the usual pain associated with aging, in addition to an unsharpening of the mind. More good than not good. That’s good, eh?
Well, I am doing the best I can. Glad, damn glad, you asked. Not doing it on my own. A little help from my friends, Jaypirca.
So, I have a blood cancer, bad veins and circulation, spinal stenosis and who knows what. Memory not what it was (good for me, because there is so much to forget. I have ankles.
Still alive and cooking. Avoiding boiling water and oil. Having fun. Enjoying life.
So, I made it. A year ago, I sat in a hospital bed, didn’t know if it was my birthday or death day. Have regained my spirit, if not my endurance, memory and flexibility. Blood perfect for CLL/lymphoma, but not for humans with good blood. Hard not to reflect on my failed existence. I’ll pass.
Still have Sharon, a few friends and a passion for photographic art.