I left Chicago for Idaho on a febrile whim when I was young and delirious. On returning to "civilization" after 30 years away, I felt like someone had lifted the lid off a box I'd been in for too long. Suddenly I was in the midst of art and ethnic food and people wearing something other than jeans. I realized how changed my life would have been had I stayed. In this photo collage, I play homage to the fantastic possibilities that abound (in the form of flying beets and blossoms) in large cultural areas like Chicago.
A building painted lurid green, it's electrical boxes arranged so thoughtfully for one who sees abstracts where ever she looks. It implored me to take its photo.
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A handful of daisies clipped from the clump growing in front of the stoop, stuck in the yard-sale vase on the kitchen table.
This image is one of a series on dreams. It depicts a dream of flight and fear, shadowed places, strange people.
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The old hospital where my 3 daughters were born was being torn down. I wanted to record its last days. It was a fascinating tableau that I came upon: Abstract destruction with sinks dangling, wires and twisted pipes, the walls still mostly intact. I use it for the basis of this collage, with ghosts in the doorways, a photo of a baby (born there), and the cows coming home.
A favorite fishing spot, the photo old and discolored. The water obscures people lost to me, just as the passage of time does. It also holds life in the form of turtles (a symbol for longevity) and a school of small whales. Youth rises from the depths, a descendant of the lost ones. The flowers are newly bloomed and life carries on in its heedless way.
The background is a detail from an abstract painting - a metaphor for the abstraction of thought. This young woman is surrounded by birds, and she is probably pondering flight and feathers, but not necessarily..
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In August the spiders go on vacation. They fly through the air on a thousand webs. This image consists of a photo of my garden seen through the window screen at dusk that is festooned with webs made golden by the setting sun. And a little Photoshop magic.
No hanging out the clothes today. Weather station says rain in the forecast. If I had an elegant laundry room, this is where I'd hang this photo. My laundry room is cave-like, only suitable for hanging cobwebs and old paint brushes.
For weeks I drove around with my camera in the car, waiting to grab a photo of birds flying. The pigeons were sluggish, the gulls morose, the other birds too hasty for me to capture. Then one morning I looked out the bedroom window and there sat these 5 starlings. They waited for me to find my camera and as soon as I was ready, the one in the middle did an aerial move. I swear it winked at me as it flew away seconds later.
A rainy day, a turtle dove looking back as I take its photo.
The little house finches hang out waiting for me to refill the feeder. This one contemplates winter as the first snow fall arrives.
Wyoming is a wild place, windy and stark. Here I've captured a brave little juniper that grows on the top of a hill, buffeted by winds the livelong day.
On my way out to discard the trash one cold and rainy day, I looked down to see this lovely (to me) tableau of angled leaves and rain drops. I was rewarded for doing my chores by this little abstract image.
September in Chicago and the weather was hot and sunny except for this one day when we awoke to rain. The cicadas had finally hushed and here, on the landing, were arranged golden leaves on green. We were off to the Museum of Modern Art this day, but Mother Nature saw fit to have her own pre-show.