Spring up and out

We're over the middle part now and it's time to start digging into something sustained. We're talking projects.

Every week I show you pictures from artists who have taken a stand, made a mark, looked carefully. And I ask you to simply drink in their pictures, to trust yourself, and to respond.

What do you want to look at? What do you want me to see?

Sometimes you answer that question by simply getting up, getting outside, breathing, and getting involved, taking pictures. And sometimes it's more quiet and internal. There's no right answer; it's your choice; it's your response.

But you must respond.

Even if you're not sure exactly how or why — pick up the camera and make a picture.

During the last snowfall a couple weeks ago (dare we hope it was the last?), I was drawn to this backyard basketball hoop across the street. It resonated for me, but I didn't know why. From my window I watched the snow fall through the night. And in the morning I started taking pictures. After some of the shoveling was done, this frame appeared.

Yesterday it snapped for me.

Solo copyright 2007 Lisa Robinson, from her book: Snowbound

In Houston at Fotofest this past week I had a chance to catch up with Lisa Robinson, and I realized that her picture lingering in the back of mind had informed my experience from two weeks ago. It's plain and obvious to me now, but I didn't see it then.

Here's my point — if I'd insisted on understanding why that scene out my window resonated so strangely, I might not have taken the picture.

Among the many things you're learning, as you learn photography, is that the pictures inside you come from other pictures, as much as they come from the world. That doesn't make them less than yours.

In fact, if anything, it makes them more yours, more connected to you. That is, the pictures you make anchor you to your path; they chart your journey on the unique map of life. Your world is criss-crossed with physical memory and physical experience, and with physical pictures. The pictures you make honor those connections.

For me, in my new home on Staten Island (you might remember that I moved here less than a year ago), this picture marks a moment when past and future and present come together. I don't know if this picture will become part of the final portfolio (or, truthfully, if there will even be a final portfolio!), but it resonated at the time I made it, and resonates even more strongly now that I've discovered its underlying informant in Lisa's picture.

Find out more about Lisa's work on her website, and read more about her inspiration in this interview. In her pictures I see the work of paying attention, of noticing, of being quiet, of being strong, and of being present to a moment when the world seems suspended, temporarily.

Okay, and that's it for snow on my blog, for now, if the weather cooperates. Spring anyone?