“It is the sacred role of the artist to bring color and light into the world.” – Joseph Campbell.

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People tell me every day lately that my love for photography, flowers, color, and light is apparent, but I am never quite sure what that means. But I’m not dense.

I love the impact these photos have on people who share my love of color and light and who, like me, also need it in their lives.

Color is a power that heals, comforts, and touches the soul.

Maria says I am not a crawl-in-the-mud gardener but a color and light gardener. I know what she means. I’m not into the planting; I love the picture taking.

(Photo above of the new baby Gladiola was taken by my Iphone 13 Max Pro, so are the two photos below.)

This year, I made some of the best creative decisions of my life.

I made a truly terrifying investment in two Leica Cameras, the Leica 2 and the Monochrome, that I will be paying almost for the rest of my life.

I realized today that I had shown Maria every single photograph I have taken in my life, and she has supported me and encouraged me every step of the way.

I took my first photo a few months before I met her, sometime in 2007. The first thing I do when I come into the house is to show her the photos I’ve taken.

I would have given up years ago without her. It is harder and more complex work than I imagined.

My love for her opened my heart to my love of bright and uplifting images. My heart and soul were nearly dead.

The first photos I took were of dead leaves hanging on trees.

Maria said they were all good, and I believed her. I have always described myself as a warrior for color and light; it is becoming more and more truthful.

 

 

I took some significant steps with my photography this year.

I sent my Canon cameras and every lens I bought to B&H Photo in New York to trade and helped pay for the new cameras. The rest I am paying for in monthly payments.

The cameras are lovely, but so is my Iphone 13 camera, which takes very different pictures than the Leicas but lovely ones.

I also purchased four different-sized raised garden beds and a lot of seeds and decided to plant my own flowers and take my own photos; I felt an artist in me, a creative spark that wanted to come out.

I’ve never met my color and light before; I’ve always photographed the color and light around me. With the help of Mother Nature (and the ghost of Georgia Okeeffe), I’ve crossed a boundary.

I made a further investment six months ago.

I took Photo Editing lessons from a computer genius in Vermont ($80 to $110 an hour) and unique ($145 an hour) classes at the Leica Akademie in Boston to learn how to use my great new cameras.

I’ve been taking photos for about 12 years, and I balked at learning some of the simple technical realities of photography that make such a difference.

The lessons were taken two or three times a month.

I made another investment. I re-designed and focused the blog on making it a safe (mainly) place devoted to beautiful images, stories, and photos of good and compassionate people.

The hatred and arguments can rage all around us, but they won’t rant here. I take great joy in chasing the trolls and whineasses off my site.

I have no regrets about spending this money; it was a crowning moment in my understanding of myself as an artist and finally created the color and light I have been searching for all my life.

 

 

Creativity is all about taking risks and leaps of faith. I want to do the work that makes people sit up, open their eyes, and feel warm and good.

I want to touch their hearts and souls. I can’t do this all the time, but when I see an opening, I plow through it. The flowers in my garden beds are just such an opening.

I think I sensed that from the beginning.

I’m going to have a good summer, photo-wise.

All of this investing pretty much wiped me out. I can’t do the lessons anymore, and hopefully, I can move ahead on my own. I had great teachers; they taught me more than I could have imagined in those lessons. I think they turned my life around.

They each told me they would always be there for me and believed in my creative talent. They told me always to be wary of the pompous peckerheads who crow about the old ways. I hear from them often.

Photography is an expensive hobby, and all of the money goes out; nothing comes in. I don’t want to sell my photographs; they are my gift to the many people who have supported and encouraged me from my first photo to now. I think I’ve given away about 50,000 images; I don’t bookmark or copy any of them.

It took me a while to grasp the connection between hard work and preparation to make something beautiful and meaningful. To take beautiful photos, to seek out the color and the light, I had to learn a lot; there was no other way around it.

And as I am getting older, time was running out. Time to put my money where my heart is. And now that I am out of money, time to get to work and stop screwing around.

This morning, a bunch of Ravens – in mythology, they lead us from the darkness into the light – were clustered around the farmhouse yakking at one another and, I think, at Maria, who was sitting on the back porch watching them.

We rarely see ravens around the farm.

I grew up in the darkness, prayed, and desperately hoped for color and light. Sometimes I could find it, sometimes not. Maybe the ravens were delivering a message. They seemed to have a lot to say.

My life has been a seesaw, like the lives of so many others, between the darkness and the light. Somehow, color and light seem more important to me than ever before.

My marriage to Maria, my work at the Mansion, and with the refugee children and Sue Silverstein have opened my heart to a new chapter in my life.

As Campbell suggested, I am an artist now, and I have never been closer or better positioned to search out the color and light, send it out into the world, and help the needy and the vulnerable.

This is the right thing to do at this point in my life, and I am utterly committed to it.

So I’ll keep trying with my life, small acts of great kindness, writing, blog, and photography.

This creative lunge will likely be one of the few remaining chapters in my life. I am working to make it one of the best.

The flowers and your generous reaction to my picture inspire me and gave me an excellent start.

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 “I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way.” – Georgia O’Keeffe.