As a photographer, I try to see those parts of the world that are always there but hardly noticed. Everywhere I look I see photographs. When you look at my photos, you will not see what I saw, but you will see what your world view lets you see. In essence, I paint with light. I create a world that cannot be duplicated but is always around us. Thousands of people walk by these small cactus every day. How many of them actually looked at them? Here is a poem that seems appropriate.
What does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease,
No man, woman, or child alive could please
Me now. And yet I almost dare to laugh
Because I sit and frame an epitaph--
"Here lies all that no one loved of him
And that loved no one." Then in a trice that whim
Has wearied. But, though I am like a river
At fall of evening when it seems that never
Has the sun lighted it or warmed it, while
Cross breezes cut the surface to a file,
This heart, some fraction of me, hapily
Floats through a window even now to a tree
Down in the misting, dim-lit, quiet vale;
Not like a pewit that returns to wail
For something it has lost, but like a dove
That slants unanswering to its home and love.
There I find my rest, and through the dusk air
Flies what yet lives in me. Beauty is there
Beauty by Edward Thomas
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