Art can be an incremental process. Then there are times when, without warning, you find yourself caught in the throes of some muse’s dying, orgasmic spasm, well and truly beyond any rational explanation.
For months now, I’ve been convinced that I have yet to discover my “voice” as a photographer. Despite taking many shots I love, it seemed if I were ever to do anything truly memorable, it would be something I had not yet undertaken. In truth, there are very few, if any, new photos to be had. And I’m not sure anything I’ve ever done hasn’t been bested by a thousand other shooters out there.
I’ve suspected – knowing the inside of my head as I do – that if I ever did make that leap, it would be into something darker and more abstract. I have always found beauty in the darkness, and even as a writer I never had much use for the literal. I’m a symbolist, an impressionist, a deeply intuitive conveyor of raw emotion that hopefully works in a way that transcends the intellectual.
I may have turned a corner. I hope you enjoy this set.