I didn’t think I was out looking for it but somehow it seems to come my way or catch my eye. Rust. In this case it was not just rust but old, weathered rope. Hard combination for me to pass up. As with so many of the things that attract my eye, I love the contrast but I can’t precisely explain what it is exactly or why it appeals to me. Not that it matters or that I try too hard, I confess.
Without planning, I took two outings on successive days to Olmstead-designed places: first to the banks of the (very) Muddy River in Brookline, part of the “Emerald Necklace” circle of parklands around Boston and then to Forest Hills Cemetery, not just a burial ground but a wonderfully accessible place of artful nature between Forest Hills and Mattapan.
I’m never sure of what I’m looking for when I go out with the camera, mostly just wanting to keep my art eyes open and see what walks in front of me. I was still basking in the glories of the flowers I had captured at Still Point and just printed to my great pleasure and excitement. So perhaps I was still in mind of nature’s pull.
And what did I find? Ah, rust. Rust and tar, actually. Both of these are on-going visual preoccupations of mine. So it isn’t surprising (although perhaps a bit ironic, considering where I was) that these caught my eye. As much as I love the Olmstead spaces, there is a way in which their cultivation of nature makes them somewhat less interesting visually for me. Don’t get me wrong – they’re great for walking in, great for relieving the tension engendered in so many urban spaces. They just don’t make the visual impression of an untended field or wood.
So, I find what I find or what finds me. And I’m happy that way!