May 2024

Coming in at a low angle and refracted through the nicked glass of the old door the early daylight begins to take over the room. It signals a new day, but he sees it only as a threat. A challenge he is unwilling to meet.

He copies and pastes the to-do list from the day before and knows he’ll do the same tomorrow. Desire is not the problem; it’s ambition that is missing.

The shafts and dots of light will move across the floor, up the walls, onto the ceiling and to the other side of the room, as they did yesterday, and he will be still and watch. He tells himself it is part of the process.

Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow is the day.

Where Things Stand. May.

I am branching out in my approach to photography and this website.

I am still deciding how I want to evolve This Decisive Moment, but I am getting close. I realize that most people access the content I have created over the years not through the website, but through their phones so as I decide what kind of content I want to create and how I want to present it I am keeping that in mind. Trying to find something that works for me creatively and works for the audience.

In the meantime, for most of the month of May, I am going to be working in my new studio space toward my first open barn gallery show. It’ll probably happen in mid-June and then once a month into the fall.

I have found that it is not as easy as building the space(which is not easy itself), but there is also work to be done when it comes to setting up the space so it works. It has taken longer than I thought it would to get up and running. But I am close and I will keep you posted.

As they used to say, “Watch this space!”

wide angle

Once you declare yourself a runner you are challenged daily to prove your case. No one tests you on this question as you test yourself and there is no greater test than the test presented in the dark months of winter.

I prefer to run at five, six, or seven in the morning, but in late January, most of February, and the early weeks of March — it’s not only dark where I live, it is cold. It is the coldest part of the day at the coldest time of year. You must trick yourself into thinking that it is not that dark and it is not that cold.

The first step is to convince yourself that the movement of running, the burning of energy, will create the heat you need to contend with the cold. There is some truth to this. After the first half mile or mile, twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit becomes thirty-five and so on. At the freezing point a runner can easily achieve a feels like temperature in the low forties. But that doesn’t make it any easier to start, because the beginning will be unmistakably cold and it will feel colder.

The second step is to choose the right combination of cold running clothing. Is this a glove day or a mitten day? Four layers, or two? The thickest running pants or the thinnest? The right decision makes conditions just right, like the month of May with snow. The wrong decision keeps you in winter or pushes you into the summer months.

Finally, there is the road. Gray in color. The center line a bright yellow. The route is lined with bare trees and evergreens. It cuts through fields covered with a few inches of snow. The dominant color is presented in the un-cut grass of fall protruding through the snow. White and gray and gold.

On a morning run the wind is still and all is silent except for the sound of your breath, the popping of your running shoes on the pavement, the crackle of the occasional patch of ice or snow under foot. You can see your breath as well as hear it. Your nose runs and as you wipe it clean you notice the designer of your mittens anticipated the moment and placed a patch of soft material across the backside of the thumb. It’s softer and warmer than the rest of the fabric.

Because there is the possibility of snow and ice along your route your pace is slow. You pick your feet straight up off the pavement and place them back carefully. There is less focus on the horizon, or your finish line, and more focus — intentional focus — on the few feet in front of you. Where you drop your foot next is more important than your time or distance. The winter shuffle changes the sound of the run. It adds to your sense of accomplishment. Running is hard and lonely in the best of conditions. At this time of year the challenge is harder, but if you can endure it the reward is greater.

The aesthetic of the winter run is minimalist. Stripped clean. Nearly monochrome. Almost without sound. Excepting the road, the rest of the world is under a blanket. Covered until March or April. Your path is plowed, but not for you. No one expects you to be here. Your determination is the most important detail of the scene. It is the essential piece of the picture.