Art = Life = I

In the preface to the 4th volume of his (surely destined to become a revered, timeless) Opus - Nature of Order - Christoper Alexander suggests that the inner 'I' of every person, and hint of it that some experience when interacting with, or creating works of, art ...

"... is that interior element in a work of art, or in a work of nature, which makes one feel related to it. It may occur in a leaf, or in a picture, in a house, in a wave, even in a grain of sand, or in an ornament. It is not ego. It is not me. It is not individual at all, having to do with me, or you. It is humble, and enormous: that thing in common with each one of us has in us. It is the spirit which animates each living center ... This 'I' is not normally available, is drudged up, forced to the light, forced into the light of day, by the works of art."


Alexander devotes much of his final volume to developing a breathtaking view of art, nature and how the two are fused together by the inner "light" called 'I'...


"... It is my impression ... that the I or ground is a real thing, something which exists in the world, perhaps attached to matter or a pure part of matter, which is connected to the world in which we exist, in which matter exists, and that this I forms a necessary substratum to all that exists. It, in effect, a kind of blinding unity, underlying all matter."


Alexander's poetic prose resonates strongly with me (as does his entire Opus); indeed I would characterize our respective philosophical/spiritual worldviews as essentially the same.


The simplest, purest expression of why I love photography is that - on those precious, precious days when I am truly in the "Zen" of the moment and my soul (my 'I') sees unencumbered by the dirty filters of logic and cognition - I am able to share with others the magic of seeing the inner I of the world shine forth from behind the illusory veils of ordinary substance and conventional categories (that usually conspire keep it well hidden).


How do I know when I see it? Because I lose all sense of ego, yet know it is I.

What is it About Withered, Old Windows...? - Part II

What is it about withered, old windows? Even after posting a few recent images, my soul is still beckoned by the siren call of these enigmatic, lost souls of time. I have already written of the magical way in which withered windows simultaneously reveal and conceal mystery. Another reason I find them so strangely compelling, is that they are physical metaphors for the arbitrariness of partitions between parts and wholes.

As Gregory Bateson was fond of saying, "The division of the perceived universe into parts and wholes is convenient and may be necessary, but no necessity determines how it shall be done." Taking my cue from Bateson, and speaking for the moment as more of a physicist than photographer, I can assure you that one of the deepest (though seemingly trivial) questions one can ask of our universe is this: "How can I really be sure that THIS is different from THAT?"

Almost as soon as we are able to see as infants, we begin to take for granted our ability to instantly, and effortlessly (at least from our conscious points of view!), partition the world around, and outside of, ourselves into parts and structures. As we open our eyes in the morning, we recognize the familiar walls and furniture of our bedroom, the sunlight streaming in though the blinds, the books on our shelves, the clothes in our closet, and so on. Hundreds of apparently separate objects instantly adorn our mind and space. But are they really separate? Where does one object begin and another end?

Where does the sunlight start and the window through which it seeps end? Where does the wall stop and ceiling or floor begin? Is the part of the room that is momentarily blanketed in darkness really different from the part that glows with the morning light? On an even deeper level, what is the real difference between the vast collection of cells that make up your body and the conscious you that is reading this sentence?

Is the universe really broken up into objectively separate parts, or is its clumpiness merely an illusion born of the fundamental limitations our senses impose on us?

Windows - for me - particularly old and withered ones, are reminders that much of the "order" we perceive "out there" is, in truth, only a local order that depends partly on what's out there, and partly on what's "in here" (in our minds and souls). The windows absorb and filter the myriad tones and forms of light that fall on them; allowing some to pass, reflecting others, rearranging most, and providing different views to different observers. Where is truth? Where is reality? Where is the observer?

"That which you are seeking is doing the seeking." 

- St. Francis of Assissi

What is it About Withered, Old Windows...?

What is it about withered, old windows? I have found them mysteriously alluring for as long as I can remember. Quietly they sit, like sentinels - both of this world, and yet, somehow, not - watching the inexorable rhythms of time gently lap the timeless shores of distant memories.


I imagine, in my mind's eye, strange Borgesian universes lurking within the shadows, and magical worlds inhabiting the space beyond. Are the individual panes of glass mere placeholders, I wonder - random filters that diffuse and distort what is really there - or are they portals to other realities and realms of being?


What magical stories of life and truth these windows could share, if only there were ears to hear - and souls to understand - their long-forgotten language. Still, when all is quiet, and the light yields to darkness, faint whispers of a living past can sometimes be heard...with a camera.

Fairchild Tropical Botanical Garden

A treat for all visitors to southern Florida is the 83-acre Fairchild Tropical Gardens, one of the world's preeminent botanic gardens. Fairchild has an extensive collection of rare tropical plants, and is home to botanical science programs (which focus on research and species and habitat conservation projects aimed at understanding and preserving tropical plant biodiversity).


Fairchild is located at 10901 Old Cutler Road, Coral Gables, Miami, Florida 33156, and is next door to Matheson Hammock Park; both are roughly a 20 minute ride by car from downtown Miami.


I have visited both parks countless times during family visits to the area, and always manage to find something new and interesting that catches the eye.


Fairchild, in particular, is a wonderful place to seek refuge from the hectic pace of the outside world, and just meditate on the plush environs, filled with luscious vines, palms, cycads, and a wide variety of flowering trees.


Lucky visitors will, no doubt, be joined in their meditation of the park's splendors by other, smaller, residents...birds, turtles, lizards, and - of course - alligators. All photographers who find themselves in the Coral Gable area of Florida should plan on spending at least half a day at this mini Shangri-La!


The images appearing here were all shot during a Thanksgiving retreat to Florida's warmth.

Poetic Light

Every once in a while, a small gem of a book appears on the landscape; that is at once both humble and profound. Deborah Dewit Marchant's Traveling Light: Chasing an Illuminated Life is just such a gem. A small book - but only as measured by its physical size - it contains some of the most beautifully tranquil and ethereal imagery I have seen in a long while; the meditative contemplation of which is nourished by a generous sampling of lovingly poetic musings on the artist's life of yearning and searching for sources of illumination, from both outward sources and those inwardly directed. One of the purest forms of "fine-art" photography - with an emphasis very much on art - appears when "mere images" are used by the artist to convey both personal realities and universal truths. This can only happen when the artist has so mastered the symbolic language of his/her own creation, that the distinction between inner and outer worlds either blurs, or disappears altogether. Images become both figure and ground, are both context for deeper meaning and meaning giving rise to deeper contexts, and simultaneously represent objective "reality" and the most mysterious, deeply subjective, inner experiences. The highest form of "fine-art photography not only pleases us aesthetically (and, maybe, intellectually), but also teaches us something timeless about ourselves. It is a mystery how an image captured by one person can teach some other person something about him/her self; but when it happens it is often magical, and points to hidden realms of shared experiences and realities. By this measure of "fine-art" photography, at least, Marchant's art, as witnessed by the work appearing in her beautiful first book, is masterful indeed! I suspect that many will want to keep this volume by their bedside, if only to be gently reminded at the end of a stressful day that there is great joy and grace in the world, and that more of us would be able to see it, if only we could train our eyes, our hearts and souls to recognize it. Marchant has gone out and captured it for us, and I, for one, wish to thank her for sharing her experience. Anyone who is not moved - at some level - by this stunning book of "illuminated poetry" cannot possibly be alive ;-) ... for such is its spiritual reach. If Alfred Steiglitz were alive today, I am sure he'd proclaim, "Yes, yes, THIS is why photography is art!" You can see some of Marchant's photographs (as well as pastel drawings and oil paintings) on her website.

Rocks, Leaves & Water

When my older son, Noah, was only five (a few years ago), he had already discerned one of the core meta-patterns of his dad's evolving pattern of imagery. Noah happily explained to anyone who inquired about "what that strange man with a tripod..." is doing, that..."That's just my dad; he likes to take pictures of rocks, leaves and water."

Later, of course, Noah's sense of his dad's meta-pattern grew deeper and ever more sophisticated; passing though "my dad likes to catch subtle light as it falls on dilapidated buildings,", stalling, for a while, on "my dad likes to take pictures of boring stuff," and eventually settling on "my dad likes gentle, quiet scenes." I am often greatly impressed with the depth of my son's young perception of my meta-patterns, and his eloquence in expressing them.


The three photos appearing here - all taken this past weekend at (the Virginia side of) Great Falls Park - are very firmly in the "rocks, leaves and water" class of meta-patterns; which is what I find myself going back to whenever I need to creatively recharge myself.

Patterns, meta-patterns and meta-meta-patterns may all come and go (and I hope they do keep coming and going, for change and evolution are the lifeblood of creation); but the pattern that repeats most often, and the one pattern that inevitably remains when the conscious "I" stops thinking, is what my son has known since he was five: "Dad just likes to take pictures of rocks, leaves and water."

Kafka's Door Part II

A few months ago, I posted an image of a "door" (reposted on the left) that reminded me of Kafka's well-known parable of "Before the Law."

A few months after that image was taken (in late winter), I had a chance to revisit the same area and reshoot the same door, just as spring had arrived. I was delighted to come upon another Kafkaesque scene, both obvious and subtlety paradoxical.

The door had apparently come to life, with new vines and branches sprouting leaves and gently embracing the withered old structure, as if to newly nurture and support it. But the door was also mysteriously receding into the background, and was engulfed in the new "life" emerging all around it; almost as though it were being "eaten" by it. Its time had clearly passed, as it now journeys into the even more mysterious recesses of time and memory.

Where did the doorkeeper go?, I wonder; and where did this door really lead?