There are these quiet moments. I don’t photograph many, but I delight in them when I find them on my screen. Grasses with just a hint of rain leave me with a smile.
My eye gets caught in the swirl of thicker grass and seeds. Their windblown order never bores me.
Yet the rows of glass balls offer the same sort of contemplative repetitiveness in their far more boring rigidness.
Sometimes it’s just a tonal repeat or a shape repeat that catches my eye. These classic bowl forms, thrown by a master in the fifties, make me long to reach out and feel the thinness of their walls, the slight increase of the lip, the graceful turn of the foot, and the lightness.
- Always keeping those on the east coast in my thoughts.