somewhere near,
a road-building
project destroyed
a historic wonder,
i made a photograph:
a very old log house.
sunburned from
probably a century
of summer sun.
logs turned rich
brown and black,
cracks filled with
old white plaster.
whitewash, maybe.
i don't know the
stories i can't see.
i can always
believe nonsense;
it's a very human
thing to do.
the creek flowed
silently past the
old log house.
maybe it was
drinking water,
though today it
looks murky,
a bit dangerous.
old stories are
impossible to
prove, a bit murky,
digging for
truth a little quirky
we turn over stones,
looking to see clues
to untold stories,
stories we can't see.
I make photos to make myself feel good; I share in hope of making you feel good. I do as much as I can in the camera, but it does not always end there.
Part of making an image in the 21st century is processing a captured image in the computer. This is like dodging and burning in the darkroom of yesterday.
I use Photoshop cc and Lightroom cc. The result is not always what I saw, maybe what I wish I saw. Sometimes, the resulting image is a creation more than a recording. Most of the time, I keep it believable and realistic.
View all posts by murray robertson