“We can barely see you, but feel we know you already…
I was trying to describe your images to a friend, and came up with the term ” journalistic intimacy” — you present to us small moments in time in a way that is unadorned by external pathos or wasted sentiment, trusting that your vision is sufficiently humane that the truth of the image will be an excellent truth…which it is…
You show us the most amazing slices of life…I love the way your images give us entrance into worlds we might have gone our whole lives without seeing…you share wonderful secrets, like an artist should.”
writing these words in this blog is egotistical, i’m not trying to deny it, i accept my selfish need of words, of intelligent words, of thoughts, of opinions, real opinions, people who can put words on their feelings, people who use metaphors and verbal images, to show me, describe me what they feel about what i do, and thus analyze me.
i’m not denying other people’s words or opinions, whatever they are, of course. i’m not saying any are better or worse, and it isn’t that much my ego being flattered that i need, i just have to be sure, at this point, before leaving the shop forever and making the jump, that what i do, part of it or the whole, has a meaning of some sort, and most of it, makes sense.
it’s again, and forever, the whole search of figuring things out.
and sometimes, there are souls that emerge to you, that will disappear from your life eventually, after giving your their clues, their words, their reflection of you, even though they don’t know you, whose help you can never deny.
seems stupid ? well, then, i don’t mind…
