About Time

F

inally. It happened. I actually started making pictures and walking. I think I made four or five for Storyteller. I may have made one that goes into the best of file.

It’s been awhile.

I was starting to worry. I kept telling myself that I would work my way out of the lack of motivation to make images.

I didn’t.

It just came when it came. It was the longest period of time that I felt dry. Ever. Sure, I took a picture now and then but it wasn’t like yesterday. I have my tricks and routines, but even they weren’t working.

I’m sure that a some of it came from being cooped up. I’m still cooped up, but there is no reason that I can’t walk where people aren’t. If, by some chance, somebody gets too close to me I’ll just do what everybody else does in New Orleans. I’ll shoot them.

Seriously, I won’t, but somebody might. There were five murders on Wednesday and two yesterday. The day is young. It’s only noon. No telling what could happen. And, you wonder why we bought a farm.

I kind of feel rejuvinated by the act of photographing. I knew that I would intellectually, but that doesn’t matter when you hit a slump. At least I knew one thing and followed what I knew. Don’t try so hard. If you tighten up your slump gets worse.

That happens in baseball all season. A guy goes into a slump. He doesn’t hit for two weeks. The more he tries the less he hits. One day he gets a hit. Maybe just a weak infield single. That doesn’t matter. The spell is broken.

Just like me. My spell is broken.

How are you guys doing?