Creative cultures seem to spawn narcissism, great amounts of gooey self-serving pablum and gas. It is common to hear writers and artists wallowing in their own self-importance, the drama of their lives, the cruel ways in which the world dismisses or torments them, their uniqueness and wonder, the agony and special pain of the creative life. I wonder what would happen to bank tellers and bus drivers if they spoke of their work in that way.

One of the many things I love about the brilliant photographer George Forss, an authentic American genius, is that I have never heard him describe himself in self-important ways, or complain about the callous ways in which fate has treated him. And he could. He grew up in an orphanage, was afraid to leave his apartment for years, peddled his photos on the streets. He just takes wonderful photographs, time after time, with few resources and no whining. He worked for nine years on a photographic project – the work of his life – that was derailed by the World Trade Center tragedy.

All he told me when I met him was this, “well, you know the digital thing. I’m played out.” I don’t think so.

This photograph – of a Ferris Wheel at a balloon festival taken a week or so ago- is one of the many reasons I respect George so much and admire his work – he is one of the premier landscape photographers in the world and you can see his work here at the Park Slope Gallery in New York City.

George has been elbowed aside by the onslaught of digital photography, although you would not ever hear him say that and some may think he is forgotten, but that is not so. He is simply re-imagining the world he lives in, a world his companion Donna Wynbrandt calls his “Found World.” This is a world we both share, as I also live in a found world.  The photo above is from the found world. It is photo that surprises you. There is the great composition – two children up against the sky, frozen in the moment – and the great technical achievement of getting that moving image so clear and still. Even though you can’t see their faces, the truth is, you can. And you can imagine what you can’t see.

George and I are planning a joint photo show in the Fall,  and we are calling it “Found Worlds,” two views of the rural landscape side by side. He says I have a “good eye.” Neat. I am very proud and humbled to be in his company. We might even go on a UFO sighting beforehand. That would be a helluva photo. George is, of course, on Facebook.