A LITTLE SELF REFLECTION IN ABSTRACTION - MY WAY OF WRITING ABOUT MUSKOKA HISTORY

Terry Mclaughlin of Gravenhurst's Auburn Gallery Of Fine Art with a feathered friend. (Photo By Fred Schulz)

A Gravenhurst Halloween Happening. Auburn Gallery of Fine Art -  Pumpkin Carving by artists. There was a good crowd bundled up, who came out to participate in the annual lighting of the carved pumpkins, Saturday Evening at the gallery on First Street. More pictures to follow tomorrow. (Photo By Fred Schulz) 

THE ECCENTRICITIES I DIDN'T KNOW I HAD.....

THE WRITER YOU DON'T WANT TO LIVE WITH!


     I READ THE ROUGH DRAFT OF MY BLOG TO SON ROBERT, EARLIER THIS AFTERNOON, BECAUSE I APPRECIATE HIS HONEST FEEDBACK. I DON'T ALWAYS LIKE WHAT HE HAS TO SAY, OR CONCUR, BUT THE LAD HAS THE COURAGE TO STARE-DOWN THIS OLD FIREBRAND, AND OFFER SOME SUGGESTIONS TO IMPROVE  THE  FLOW OF THE COPY.
     TODAY ROBERT LISTENED, WHILE HE CLEANED A STOCK OF OLD RECORDS HE'D JUST PURCHASED, FOR HIS MUSIC SHOP, SAT THERE FOR A MOMENT OF SILENCE, LOOKED UP AT ME AND SAID, "YOU KNOW DAD, IF JACKSON POLLOCK HAD PAINTED YOUR PORTRAIT, THIS (BLOG) WOULD BE THE WRITTEN VERSION." SO THEN I HAD MY MOMENT TO PONDER. KEEPING IN MIND, POLLOCK WAS AN ABSTRACT ARTIST, I WASN'T SURE I UNDERSTOOD WHAT ROBERT MEANT. SO BEFORE I COULD ASK FOR CLARIFICATION, HE DISAPPEARED. SO I RE-READ IT TWICE, AND AFTER THINKING ABOUT IT FOR AWHILE, REALIZED HE WAS RIGHT. WRITING ABOUT REGIONAL HISTORY, POLITICS AND ANTIQUES FOR MOST OF MY YEARS IN THE PROFESSION, I OFTEN FORGET ABOUT MY OWN CONSTITUTION IN THIS REGARD; OTHER THAN THE BASICS I'VE BEEN PURSUING FOR DECADES. I SUPPOSE IT CAN BE SAID, THERE ARE TIMES WHEN I SIMPLY "FORGET MYSELF," AND MAYBE THIS MEANS I'M NOT A TRUE NARCISSIST. I ALWAYS WORRY ABOUT THAT. IT'S WHY I HIDE BEHIND MY WORK, AND STAY OUT OF THE PUBLIC EYE.....AT LEAST THAT'S HOW ROBERT SEES IT. MAYBE THE KID'S RIGHT. THIS WAS A VERY PERSONAL TOME, AFTER WEEKS OF BEING BURIED IN MUSKOKA HISTORY......BUNDLES OF ARCHIVES MATERIALS, UP TO MY EARS. THIS WAS WRITTEN ON MY DAY OFF. MAYBE I NEED MORE DAYS OFF, TO REALLY FIND MYSELF. NOTHING LIKE SELF THERAPY TO SET THE DEMONS FREE. SO HERE GOES. WELCOME TO MY GOOD GRACES AND MY NIGHTMARE ROLLED INTO ONE.

     I WRITE ABOUT MUSKOKA BECAUSE, WELL, IT'S ALWAYS THE CENTRE OF MY UNIVERSE. IT'S WHAT I SEE FRAMED IN MY MIND, AS I TRAVEL THROUGHOUT THE REGION. WHAT FRED SCHULZ SEES, AND CAPTURES THROUGH HIS CAMERA LENS, I WRITE ABOUT INSTEAD. MY VIEWFINDER DOESN'T DROP, THE SAME AS THE PHOTOGRAPHER LOWERS HIS CAMERA. I'VE BEEN WORKING LIKE THIS FOR YEARS, FRAMING LIFE AND TIMES OUT OF HABIT; MEANING I HAVE VERY FEW MOMENTS WHEN I'M NOT SETTING SOMETHING UP, TO OVERVIEW IN PRINT. IT BEGAN AS A FAILED EFFORT AS A NEWS AND FEATURE PHOTOGRAPHER, DATING ALL THE WAY BACK TO 1979, WHEN I BEGAN MY FUMBLING, INEPT WORK WITH CAMERA AND LENS.
     EARLIER TODAY, I STARTED TO WRITE, IN THIS BLOG, ABOUT THE WAY NEWSPAPER LIFE AND TIMES, DETOURED WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN AN OTHERWISE NORMAL PROFESSION, OF POSSIBLY WRITING NOVELS, OR GREAT WORKS OF NON-FICTION; MAYBE EVEN AUTHORDOM AS A REKNOWNED HISTORIAN. I WAS TRYING TO EXPLAIN, HOW I LOOKED AT THE WORLD, IN THOSE EARLY DAYS OF REPORTING, AS IF THROUGH A WINDOW FRAME MINUS THE GLASS. I SAT STARING AT THIS SCREEN FOR A HALF HOUR, TRYING TO FIND A WAY OF PRESENTING THIS WILD ABSTRACTION, SO THAT READERS WOULD BE ABLE TO IMAGINE HOW MY CREATIVE COGS SPIN, HIT AND MISS, DAY AFTER DAY. THERE IS A METHOD TO MY MADNESS. FIRST I HAD TO COMPENSATE FOR MY LACK OF SKILL IN PHOTOGRAPHY, BY BEING GOOD AT DESCRIBING EVENTS AND SCENES I WAS ATTENDING. HERE'S WHY.
    HERE'S HOW IT STARTED. I WAS A CRAPPY PHOTOGRAPHER. SO HOW DID THAT INFLUENCE MY WRITING PERSPECTIVE? WELL, BECAUSE I OFTEN SHOWED UP, AFTER ATTENDING A MAJOR NEWS EVENT, WITH NEGATIVES UNDER OR OVER EXPOSED, OUT OF FOCUS, OR FLASHED INTO AN OBLIVION OF HEAVENLY WHITE LIGHT; SO I WOULD ROUTINELY HAVE TO MAKE UP FOR THE LOSS OF THE NEWS PHOTOGRAPHS, BY THROWING A FEW EXTRA PARAGRAPHS INTO MY WEEKLY STORIES, TO PAINT THE IMAGE (I RUINED) WITH WORDS INSTEAD. I'M NOT KIDDING. I SCREWED UP SO MANY IMPORTANT PHOTOGRAPHS, IN MY EARLY YEARS OF NEWS REPORTING, THAT I BECAME VERY GOOD AT SUBSTITUTING WORDS FOR THE IMAGES I'D LOST. IT WAS THAT OR BE FIRED FOR INCOMPETENCE. SO I GOT INTO THE CRAZY, SLIGHTLY MISGUIDED HABIT, OF STUDYING MY SUBJECT ASSIGNMENT WITH SUCH HIGH INTENSITY, THINKING IN ADVANCE, THAT IF THE PHOTOGRAPHS DIDN'T TURN OUT, I'D AT THE VERY LEAST, BE ABLE TO COMPENSATE WITH A MORE COMPELLING LITERAL DESCRIPTION, FOR THAT WEEK'S NEWSPAPER ISSUE.
   EVEN TODAY, I AM STILL FRAMING WHAT I SEE ON MY TRAVELS, MUCH AS I DID WHEN I WAS EDITOR OF THE LOCAL PRESS. I LEARNED BY MISADVENTURE IN THE PHOTOGRAPHIC ARTS, TO PREPARE IN ADVANCE FOR THE POTENTIAL, MY PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE TRIP, OR SUBJECT, ANIMAL OR HUMAN, WOULD BE TOO POOR TO PUBLISH. MY DARK ROOM TECHNICIANS USED TO CRINGE, AND TREMBLE, WHEN I'D COME INTO THEIR OFFICE, WITH A BAG OF SPENT FILM, FROM THE WEEKEND ASSIGNMENTS. THEY KNEW THAT TO PULL A PICTURE FROM ONE OF MY WASHED-OUT NEGATIVES, IT WOULD TAKE THEM WAY TOO MUCH TIME, AS DEADLINE LOOMED. "CAN'T YOU JUST WRITE A STORY ABOUT IT INSTEAD," JOHN BLACK USED TO ASK ME, ALMOST CRYING WITH MY FILM IN HIS HANDS.....LOOKING AT THE SIX ROLLS HE'D HAVE TO DEVELOP, KNOWING FULL WELL HE'D BE LUCKY TO GET A DOZEN IMAGES FROM THE TWENTY OR THIRTY I'D REQUIRE FOR THAT WEEK. BUT I ALWAYS HAD IT, AS A BACK-UP PLAN, THAT I COULD FUDGE A SOLUTION, FOR A MISSING PHOTOGRAPH.....BY WRITING TO SUIT. BY NECESSITY, I DEVELOPED A WAY OF FRAMING THESE MOMENTS IN MY IMAGINATION, SO THAT WHATEVER I NEEDED TO INCLUDE, AS A PHOTO SUBSTITUTE, I'D HAVE THE DETAIL NEEDED TO MAKE A PICTURE, IF ONLY BY DESCRIPTION. SURE IT WAS A LITTLE AWKWARD AND UNPROFESSIONAL, SORT OF, BUT EVEN WHEN I GOT BETTER AT SNAPPING IMAGES, I STILL FELT COMPELLED, TO MAKE LASTING MENTAL IMAGES, IN ORDER TO REMEMBER HOW THE EVENT TRANSPIRED, AND EVOLVED. SO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU REPEAT THIS KIND OF EFFORT, OVER AND OVER AGAIN? YOU EITHER WIND UP BONKERS, A TAD WEIRD (STRANGE) OR ECCENTRIC, LIKE MY WIFE CALLS ME, FOR LACK OF A BETTER, ALL-ENCOMPASSING WORD, OR WORDS, TO DESCRIBE MY ODD PLACEMENT IN THE UNIVERSE.
    IT SOON BECAME SECOND NATURE, TO TAKE A PICTURE WITH MY MIND. I'M STILL FRAMING MY WAY AROUND MUSKOKA, THINKING LIKE A JOURNALIST, WHO WOULD LIKE TO TAKE A PICTURE, BUT IS ONLY ADEQUATE WITH A PEN. THIS IS HOW I WRITE MOST OF MY BLOGS. THANK GOODNESS, FRED SCHULZ HAS TAKEN CARE OF THE VISUAL QUALITIES OF THIS SITE. IT STILL DOESN'T MATTER, BECAUSE I CAN'T KICK THE HABIT NOW ANYWAY. IF YOU STOP TO CHAT WITH ME, FOR A FEW MOMENTS, I GUARANTEE YOU, I WILL FRAME THE MOMENT FOR POSTERITY, AND IT WON'T HAVE A DARN THING TO DO WITH DIGITAL IMAGERY. GOOD THING TOO. YOU'D LOOK TERRIBLE IF I WAS THE PORTRAIT PHOTOGRAPHER.
     MAYBE YOU CAN IMAGINE THIS. POSSIBLY NOT. I'LL TRY TO EXPLAIN IT SIMPLY BUT, I HAVE A WAY OF COMPLICATING MY STORIES, WITH UNANTICIPATED RECOLLECTIONS.....THEN STUFFING THEM, LIKE FAT BALLOONS INTO A TINY BAG.
     IF I'VE TALKED TO YOU FACE TO FACE, YOU'LL APPRECIATE HOW FAST I CAN GET OFF THE BEATEN PATH, IN CONVERSATION, AND BE HEADING INTO THE ABYSS OF REMINISCENSES A SECOND LATER.
     SUZANNE CALLED ME ECCENTRIC THE OTHER NIGHT, BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT QUALIFIES SOMEONE AS BEING TRULY ECCENTRIC ANYWAY. I CAN BE A LITTLE NAIVE, ACCORDING TO MY CRITICS. SHE CALLED ME THIS, AFTER I BLURTED OUT, FOR NO APPARENT REASON, "DEAR, I THINK I'D MAKE A GREAT CORPSE!" "YOU'VE BEEN READING RIMSTEAD AGAIN, HAVEN'T YOU," SHE ASKED. SUZANNE WAS REFERRING TO MY PAUL RIMSTEAD BOOKS, I KEEP ON THE TABLE BESIDE MY CHAIR IN THE LIVING ROOM. I USE RIMSTEAD AS A SOURCE OF MOTIVATION, WHEN I'M FEELING A TAD MELANCHOLY AFTER A LENGTHY RESEARCH OR WRITING JAG. OR IF SUZANNE HAS YELLED AT ME FOR A NUMBER OF HOUSEHOLD ERRORS IN JUDGEMENT. IT HAPPENS. SO I FIND RIMMER'S OLD COLUMNS, HAVE THE KIND OF IRREVERENT SPARK, THAT PUSHES ME UP THE SIDE OF THAT MOUNTAIN, AND HANG-ON......, OVER THE OTHER SIDE WITH A HUSKY PUSH....A LITTLE LIKE LUGING DOWN LOOSE GRAVEL....BUT WITHOUT THE SLED. I ESPECIALLY LIKED THE SERIES OF COLUMNS HE WROTE FOR THE TORONTO SUN, CHALLENGING THE DEVIL TO A BATTLE OF TEMPERMENTS......SUGGESTING THAT IF THERE REALLY WAS A DEVIL OUT THERE, LURKING ABOUT IN QUEST OF LOST SOULS, THEN HE (OR SHE) WOULD SHOW UP AND HARVEST HIM. HE WAS THE KING OF DEVIL-MAY-CARE, WHEN IT CAME TO SOCIAL MISDEMEANORS. IF NOT, THEN IT WOULD BE PROOF TO THE WHOLE WORLD THAT THE DEVIL WAS, FIRST OF ALL, "CHICKEN!" SECONDLY, AND AS AN ANNOYANCE, JUST ANOTHER FICTIONAL ENTITY, WITHOUT HORNS, OR HEAT, OR A FORK TO POKE INTO FLESH, BEING USED UPON THE HUMAN SPIRIT, FROM OUR INFANCY, AS A THREAT TO REFORM BAD BEHAVIOUR. RIMSTEAD SURVIVED THIS PUBLISHED CHALLENGE TO THE DEVIL, TO PUT UP OR SHUT UP, BUT OF COURSE, FACT IS, HE STILL DIED A VERY YOUNG MAN, AT THE TOP OF HIS CAREER AS A WRITER. NONE OF US RIMSTEAD FANS WANT TO THINK THAT THE DEVIL MAY HAVE HAD A HAND IN THIS MATTER OF MORTAL FATE. BUT MOST OF US, AND I MEAN THE OVERWHELMING MAJORITY, WOULD NOT CHALLENGE THE DEVIL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. JUST IN CASE! RIMMER WROTE THESE COLUMNS SHORTLY AFTER THE 1970'S MOVIE, "THE EXORCIST," WAS RELEASED. LEAVE IT TO RIMSTEAD TO ASK THE DEVIL TO MAKE A GUEST APPEARANCE FOR PURPOSES OF HIS READERSHIP'S ENTERTAINMENT, EVEN IF IT MEANT HAVING THE AROMA OF SULPHUR UP HIS NOSE FOR A VERY LONG TIME.
     SO GETTING BACK TO THE "CORPSE" REFERENCE. TRUTH IS, I WAS ACTUALLY THINKING ABOUT A BILL COSBY RECORD, I HAD AS A TEENAGER, JUST BEFORE I MADE THE COMMENT, TO SUZANNE, THAT I RECALL HAD A SHORT PIECE ABOUT DEATH, COFFINS, AND HOW HE'D PUT SOME ENTERTAINMENT ZEST INTO THE VISITATION RITUAL. HIS IDEA WAS TO HAVE A TAPED MESSAGE PRE-RECORDED, FOR EVERY FRIEND AND RELATIVE ARRIVING AT THE FUNERAL HOME. WHEN THEY APPROACHED THE COFFIN, A RECORDING WOULD ADDRESS THE INDIVIDUAL PERSONALLY, AS CONTROLLED BY, I SUPPOSE, A SOUND TECHNICIAN, WHO ALSO KNEW THOSE IN ATTENDANCE. THE RESPONSE WOULD BE SOMETHING LIKE, "HI BOB, HOW ARE THE WIFE AND KIDS. DON'T I LOOK LIKE MYSELF?" AS HE POINTED OUT, THE MOST COMMON RESPONSE WHEN VISITORS ENTER THE PARLOR, AND APPROACH THE DECEASED, IS "HE (SHE) REALLY LOOKS DEAD," AS IF THERE IS ANY OTHER WAY TO LOOK, UNLESS DRESSED AS A CLOWN, AND PROPPED UP IN A CHAIR. SO WHEN I MADE MY MOOD ALTERING STATEMENT, TO SUZANNE, I GUESS IT WAS JUST A CASE OF HEARING COSBY'S VOICE IN MY HEAD, AND MAKING A CASUAL, WHILE SOMEWHAT DISTURBING DECLARATION. "I MEAN, FOR GOSH SAKES, WHAT OTHER KIND OF CORPSE WOULD YOU BE," SHE ASKED, SHAKING HER HEAD,UNDOUBTEDLY WONDERING IF I WAS PLANNING SOME EXIT STRATEGY, THAT WOULD ALSO PRESERVE MY BOYISH GOOD LOOKS. "WELL, I SURE WASN'T  PLANNING TO EXPIRE VIA LAWNMOWER BLADE," I QUIPPED, WITHOUT GETTING EVEN A CHUCKLE FROM MY MATE BESIDE.
     "DEAR, I WAS JUST DAYDREAMING, NOT PRE-PLANNING....AND IT POPPED INTO MY HEAD......SO DON'T CALL IN THE UNDERTAKER YET," I SAID. "I'VE STILL GOT A FEW MILES OF FUEL LEFT IN THIS OLD MULE." I WAS JUST TRYING TO LIGHTEN THE MOOD. HER KNITTING-NEEDLE SOUNDS ANNOY ME, SO I HAVE TO DISTRACT MYSELF WITH DEEP, AND I LIKE TO THINK, PROFOUND THOUGHTS ABOUT LIFE AND THE HEREAFTER. "WHAT, BY TELLING YOUR WIFE, YOU'D MAKE A GOOD LOOKING CORPSE," SHE SHOT BACK. "YOU KNOW, IT'S BAD LUCK TO SAY THINGS LIKE THAT? GOD KNOWS WHAT YOU MIGHT STIR-UP MAKING FUN OF DEATH. FOR SOMEONE WHO IS SO SUPERSTITIOUS, AND KNOCKS WOOD FOR GOOD LUCK, TEN TIMES A DAY, DON'T YOU THINK THE GRIM REAPER LISTENS FOR HIS NAME TO BE MENTIONED?" "NEVER GAVE IT MUCH THOUGHT," I REPLIED. "HONESTLY, I DIDN'T!" THAT'S WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN, I GOT THINKING ABOUT HOW RIMSTEAD CHALLENGED THE DEVIL, AND AS WILD AS THIS READS, IT MADE ME THINK ABOUT MY OWN DAYS AS A COLUMNIST, FOR THE HERALD-GAZETTE; AND THEN ABOUT HOW CRAPPY A PHOTOGRAPHER I WAS, FOREVER AND A DAY. SO CALL IT CREATIVE MADNESS, BUT THIS IS HOW I GOT THINKING ABOUT MY IMAGE FRAMING, FOR WRITING PURPOSES. I HAD ACTUALLY, FOR A MOMENT, PICTURED MYSELF IN A COFFIN, REACHING UP TO SHAKE SOME DUDE'S HAND, FRED SCHULZ I THINK IT WAS, WHO HAD COME FOR THE "TED VIEWING." IF SUZANNE ACTUALLY READ ANY OF MY COLUMNS, SHE'D FREAK OUT ABOUT THIS, AND HAVE TO PRAY TWICE AS LONG, TO SAVE ME FROM A FATE EVEN WORSE THAN DEATH. WHICH OF COURSE, IN SIMPLE LANGUAGE, IS HER BEING MAD AT ME FOR SOME INDISCRETION OR OTHER.
     FOR FUN, I WILL OCCASIONALLY, FOR A WEE LAUGH, READ A "WRITER HELPING WRITERS" INSTRUCTIONAL COLUMN, PUBLISHED IN A MAGAZINE, OR SOMETIMES EVEN IN THE LOCAL PRESS, AND WONDER TO MYSELF, WHAT KIND OF TUTORING I WOULD GIVE A ROOKIE SCRIBE UNDER MY WATCH. GOD FORBID I SHOULD DO SOMETHING SO EVIL, AS TO IMPRESS UPON A YOUNG SOUL, THE CORRUPT WAYS OF AN OLD FART, WHO VIEWS HIS SUBJECTS LIKE A STORM THROUGH A WINDOW. ONE WHO HAS, IF NOT AS A SUCCESSFUL WRITER, THEN AS ONE WHO HAS AT THE VERY LEAST, WALKED THE WALK, THROUGH THE QUAGMIRE OF SELF DOUBT AND DISCOVERY, FOR LONG AND LONG; JUST TO WIND UP AT THIS STATION IN LIFE, WONDERING HOW I'D LOOK AS DEATH WARMED-OVER. NOW WHAT FLEDGLING WRITER WOULDN'T BENEFIT, FROM A TELL-ALL, BARE-ALL OVERVIEW LIKE THIS? STRANGE AS IT MAY SEEM, THE THREAD WEAVING THROUGH ALL MY WRITING YEARS, HAS THIS "FRAMING" IDEAL ATTACHED, LIKE A PERMANENT VIEWFINDER, SUCH THAT I SEE ALL MY STORIES LIKE A PHOTOGRAPH, FIRST,.....BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL COULDN'T CAPTURE THE IMAGE ANY OTHER WAY, BUT WITH THE WORDS GOD GAVE ME, TO SAVE MY SOUL.
     THE REASON I WROTE THIS EXPLANATORY PIECE, WAS TO CONFESS AS BIOGRAPHY, SORT OF, HOW MY POIGNANT DANCE WITH ACTUALITY, AND WHAT I PERCEIVE AS ACTUALITY, COMPOUNDS WHAT, AND HOW, I VIEW MY SUBJECT....LIKE THE KIND OF BLURRED IMAGES I WAS FAMOUS FOR AS A PHOTOGRAPHER. TO ME, I'VE BEEN MAKING SENSE OUT OF DOUBLE IMAGE ABSTRACTIONS, SEEMINGLY FOR EVER. YET NOT THINKING OF IT AS UNUSUAL. IT'S MY CUMBERSOME WAY OF TAKING IT ALL IN, SO I DON'T MISS A THING. MY WRITING JAGS BEGIN WITH A MENTAL PHOTOGRAPH, AND WITHIN THAT FRAME, WILL BE ANYTHING THAT DISTRACTS ME UNTIL THE LAST OVERLAPPING PERIOD OF THE VERY LAST PARAGRAPH...AND IT WILL INCLUDE THE ANNOYING SENSORY PERCEPTION, THAT SOMEWHERE IN MY CREATIVE ENTERPRISE, THERE ARE THE SOUNDS OF KNITTING NEEDLES TAPPING AGAINST EACH OTHER, IN THAT HAUNTINGLY FAMILIAR CADENCE KNOWN WELL AT BIRCH HOLLOW. I WILL, AT ONE MOMENT, BE FRAMING AN OBSERVATION ABOUT A RAGING STORM, JUST THEN, THRASHING DRIED RASPBERRY CANES AT THE GLASS PANE, OF MY OFFICE WINDOW; AND THEN, SUBTLY BUT CONTENTLY INTRUDED UPON, BY MEMORY'S ELECTRIC SILHOUETTE; THE FAINT IMPOSING IMAGE OF SUZANNE KNITTING SOCKS, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GREAT CHINA CUPBOARD, THAT HOLDS HER GLASS HEIRLOOMS. ONE ACTUALITY IS OVERLAPPED BY ANOTHER, AND THIS IS HOW I SEE EACH DAY, SECOND BY SECOND, MINUTE BY MINUTE. THUS, A STORM, AS PROFILED BY THIS WRITER, IS NEVER JUST A STORM. IT IS A STORM OUTSIDE OF A MODERN HOMESTEAD, WHERE A KNITTER KNITS, AND A WRITER PREPARES TO WRITE. A STORM OVER A HOUSE, THAT IS HOME TO CATS AND AN OLD DOG; A CRACKLING FIRE ON A BRICK HEARTH, A SPIDER'S WEB IN ONE CORNER OF THE CEILING, AND THE CHIRP OF A CRICKET FROM BEHIND A BASEBOARD HEATER. AS A PHOTOGRAPHER I WAS DISTRACTED BY WHAT I SAW IN THE VIEWFINDER. I COULD NEVER ACHIEVE THE PHOTOGRAPHIC-CAPTURE OF ALL THAT I SAW, AND PERCEIVED THROUGH THAT TINY PORTAL OF GLASS, SUCH THAT I WAS ALWAYS DISAPPOINTED IN THE BLACK AND WHITE, OF WHAT I SAW AS FULL COLOR. IF I SEEM ABSTRACT AT TIMES, VIA THESE BLOGS, IT IS FOR THIS REASON. MY DOUBLE IMAGE OF LIFE AND TIMES IS PERPETUAL...AND TERMINAL. SUZANNE CALLS ME ECCENTRIC AND POETIC. I AGREE WITH ONE OF THE TWO.