Category: Still Life

For the past ten days I’ve been clearing 45 years of accumulated “stuff” out of my 1600 square foot quonset hut. This includes long forgotten “projects;” 40 year old client files from the days of reproduction art on illustration board; silk screens and squeegees; potters wheel and kiln; sculpting clay and tools; frames and glass; stuff left behind when my daughter moved out; old studio props; my own and others artwork; lumber and hardware from when I built the house; stuff stored for “others;” the list goes on endlessly, amazingly and ridiculously. Three large trailer loads of what in the end no one wanted. Memories have been tickled and tears have been shed (over damage to “keepsakes” from improper packing for the storage conditions). The trailer now sits loaded with half a ton of metal headed for the recycler next week.

This necessary “clear-out-the-crap” occurred because I’m closing my rented studio/office. The economy no longer supports the expense. Next week will be more of the same process – discarding a lifetime of commercial work and reference files, tens of thousands of dollars worth of obsolete software, phones, printers, computers, professional cathode ray monitors, keyboards, et al – scrap. Whatever can’t be let go of will end up on ebay and craigslist. This cleansing process brings a bit of melancholy along with a sense of relief and the potential for rebirth.

Haven’t had time to photograph much; though made these few documents while working through the clearing and organizing process.

(click photograph for larger view)

Leica M8, 50 mm Summilux Asph

temporary containers
still life

(click photograph for larger view)

Canon 5D, 24 – 70 mm 1:2.8 L USM

The Remains by Mark Strand

I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.

What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.

My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.