June 13th, 2011
Like many self-taught photographic artists, my work began as a way to explore, examine, and share my surroundings. Realizing I could express my emotions this way as well, my style changed from documentary to expressionism through experimentation with light and focus and their effects on mood. Over time I discovered the artistic and emotional fulfillment of combining those images with the words of a classic poet or lyricist. And in this I find my greatest satisfaction.
In the case of one brilliant red tulip this spring, the poetry of e.e. cummings allowed me to translate that flower's Victorian symbolism as a declaration of love and deepen its meaning with humility and the admission of the imperfection of self.
If I have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind - if I have failed to snare
the glance too shy - if through my singing slips
the very skilful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair
- let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death" -
you will only create
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:
lady whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came
into the ragged meadow of my soul.