The purist among us, even within myself, would suggest this isn’t photography.
I would wholeheartedly agree.
The art, mechanics, intent, recording of photography has long ago stopped. What follows is something else.
Because it has its origins in photography we still assign the title of ‘Photograph’, with reservations.
Somewhere, we might agree that the connection to the photograph is so distant that we need another name, another genre.
On that matter, mainly due to our own inability to identify at what point the photograph becomes something else, we will continue to differ.
Meanwhile, I keep searching; not for any truth (a term so loosely banded about as if it is a universal constant), but something hidden in myself.
It’s not the ability to operate a camera or have the latest and greatest devise or make beautiful, sharp images that I seek. In fact, these things often get in the way of what I seek.
It is something in me that is the guerdon. It’s the pleasure, the frustration, the anger, the joy, the disappointment, the unfathomable misunderstanding of living that I wish to reveal. Not to others; to myself. Then hope that someone else might see it as well.