Marcoclicks - images, words

The end

I no longer can remember how long I've been doing this blog. It's been years. I started when the idea of a blog was new and I've watched it shift and evolve, even as my format has stayed almost exactly the same. I've written here every couple of weeks and it has served me well. I got the contents of my 2008 book by adapting blog posts; it's been a goad to shoot more, to write more.

I will miss it.

This feels like the end of this form of sharing, the moment to acknowledge that other than me, no one has been paying any attention to the blog. That's not necessarily a problem - unless I choose to define it that way. After all, I have used this for my own purpose, although I did harbor the hope that others would find it a source of connection, maybe even inspiration. But, from what the site statistics show, other than me, ain't nobody else tuning in here.

I've not been willing to evolve, it seems. So now I'll continue to post, but on my Facebook page, so if you happen upon me there, you will no doubt catch further visual and verbal musings.

See ya there!

Blessings

Marco

A blue beach ball

I doubt I'll ever know what brought this scene together. And it doesn't matter, I know that much. A blue beach ball rests in the water by the edge of a small pond near the bay. Protected from the wind, the day's bluster is lost, overwhelmed by the wood's quiet. I can watch, standing, leaning gingerly on the fragile rail. I feel as quiet as the woods. That was yesterday.

And why I do this is that, sometimes when I'm able to slow down enough, I notice the grace of what's in front of me. Sometimes, later on, when I put my mark on what the lens has seen, I can make visible what wasn't at the time but was clearly there, at least it seems so now.

It doesn't always happen, but when it does, I notice it. It's a blessing and it makes me happy.

Marco

Moving to comfort

It comes together, somehow, against my sense of what works visually: this image, this situation. I am not comfortable with confusion and when I don't see a pattern, I get confused. And when that happens, once again I am asked to focus on seeking comfort in lack of pattern, in a jumble.

What I notice is that once I let go of that initial discomfort, there's not that much there, little to tense myself against. That's worth noticing, given how I've struggled against it.

Indeed, I have spent so much of my life avoiding situations I expected to be uncomfortable and it's taken me this many years to notice that once I enter those situations, there's nothing much there. Certainly nothing to have paralyzed myself against.

It's quite a comfort to let the jumble in. And sometimes there's even extraordinary things to see that otherwise weren't noticed.

Blessings

Marco

Quiet

A warm November day, that used to be considerably more counter-intuitive, but less so lately. It was the quiet that caught my attention, that and the light. Late afternoon comes early at this time of year. The pond was still and small branches moved hardly at all.

We stood there on that slender bridge, watching the woods, the water, looking for frogs but not finding any. After a while, our eyes slowed down to the pace of the day and the light. No words came between us, they weren't required. What we shared was an experience that was unique to each of us - shared difference, somehow. It bred closeness.

Nothing so much as the quiet defined that moment. With waves relaxing onto the sand, still it was an exercise in silence, in watching, listening. And looking.

And blessing...

Marco

A gentle jumble

Can you compose chaos? I wouldn't have thought so; but perhaps I'd be wrong. We have relatively rigid ideas of what beauty looks like and often I see things that don't fit into those categories. In fact, I enjoy the incongruous confusion of chaos, at least to look at if not to live with.

So tumble it all together and what do we get: I'm not sure. Most of the time, it's mud or so it seems. But every once in a while, we find some harmonious combination of color and texture and light that we would not otherwise have encountered. The prospect of finding that, noticing that, it's the whole point of the game.

And enjoying the times when the exercise brings you nothing more than closer to the next time it really works...

Blessings

Marco

Unexpected and worn

The light is strong now and the wind is still. Everything in the world in front of me is sharp and quiet, just for a moment. I see a familiar scene, usually barely worthy of note. In this moment, I see it far more clearly. Why this happens when it does is beyond me.

I know that I am inclined toward the common, the unremarkable, the stuff we don’t usually notice; I know this about my eyes. And yet I still notice that I am surprised to be struck all of a sudden by an unexpected composition in the least likely spot.

When I am quiet or moving slowly, I am more likely to notice; when circumstances allow, I am able capture what I have been given to see. Sometimes the camera is an after-thought; sometimes, I’ve been searching for something to shoot. In either case, the moment is mine.

I've been doing this for years, it's become part of who I am. When it works well, it becomes something that I can share. And that's important.

Blessings,

Marco

What's new?

Today, as the day was headed toward its daylight midpoint and various tasks had already fallen away, I thought to go out with my camera to see, to shoot. It was a slightly overcast day but with streaks of solid sunlight. That can be a challenge but it's certainly not insurmountable - you simply need to know what you are looking for and act quickly. Those two things don't always conincide, at least in me, but as ever, it's worth a try.

As I walked down the stairs, I thought, I would like, this time, to capture something I've not seen before or not seen in that way before. Lately, my shots have felt a bit like "Marco's greatest hits" rather than working on new ground. So that was my thought, although I did try to keep it as a suggestion, an intention, rather than some more urgent command.

I walked and looked and looked and walked, around Wards Pond. It's a lovely, cool day and the reward of being outside was sufficient. Good thing, because nothing came - or rather nothing distinctly new came. And I've gotten OK with that. I suppose it's about the intention. I know for sure that there ARE new things and new ways of seeing out there. But I also know that I can't legislate when they arrive; all I can do is go out there and be ready.

And I did that, for which I am grateful. (And by the way, this image, which I really like, came from a different outing!)

Blessings

Marco

Well-worn

When I focus on looking closely, it isn't always easy to know exactly where to put my attention. What  do I want to look at? What is it I'm expecting or hoping or imagining I'm going to see? It requires some discipline to sit with those questions.

This is not idle - the more clear I am about my intention in that moment, the greater the likelihood that I'll be able to capture an image that speaks to me, that lingers and expands as I continue to reflect on it.

Lately, I am attracted to age and the signs of age,  the visible representation of a lifetime well lived, of service and utility, no matter for what purpose. The object can be human-made or of the natural world, that reflection of a lifetime is what resonates for me, what sets my imagination soaring.

Yes, I know - it's part of my on-going, never-ending attempt to understand my own life. Sure, why not: after all, ultimately it feels empty to ignore the possibility of such insights. It goes to one of the cores of living my life: looking, seeing, noticing, and pointing out (as in, sharing) what attracts and moves me.

And it's a comfort to know this.

Blessings

Marco

 

Small collections

There are times when my life feels like a jumble. Experiences, people, conditions, and things are mixed together without any plan or pattern or purpose. At least none that jump immediately to mind. I have a need for understanding, for finding the symmetry in haphazard reality.

This sits deep within me and it's not always easy. Or helpful. It pushes me to define everything in front of me in terms of what I know from the past. That leaves little room for the new or unusual delight, or even the learning that comes from discomfort.

When those feelings capture me, when the need for order or understanding (or, ultimately, control) becomes more important than seeing what's directly in front of me, I have learned to notice that there's a bigger story I ought to be paying attention to. So what can I do? Being quiet and attentive, calm and inquiring - those all help.

And when I am able to do those things, generally I notice that while the jumble is still there, it has attractive, even beautiful moments, often many of them and more evocative than I ever would have imagined when I viewed them initially. 

As you must know, it is a constant practice. Blessings,

Marco

It sometimes happens...

It sometimes happens that the earth sits comfortably beneath me, that I am supported with ease and grace, that sunlight is unencumbered by clouds.

Yes, these things happen, and more often than we may notice.

I am reminded of this as I wander through a room with haphazard piles of things in various states of disrepair, yet not so far-gone as to be unusable. I stumble over stuff and I mask my discomfort. And then I notice the folding chairs, a riot of color and texture amidst the confusion.

And I wonder whether seeing this moment clearly has changed how I see what often feels like visual chaos. Can reminding myself that there is balance and beauty in all things help us to glide more easily through what had seemed like obstacles?

It sometimes works that way.

Blessings

Marco

It's not about geometry

I've been to this wall lots, and with my camera. I did a series of shots about two years ago and many of the images remain among my favorites. The textures of industrial concrete and the decay of mold and moss - it represents my familiar fascination with visual irony and serendipity. So here I am, back again at the wall, camera in hand, seeing what there is to see.

I've noticed a tendency to shoot "interesting" subjects, which sometimes (often?) means the framing is unusual and highlights some otherwise obscure aspect of the subject. That's fine, no problem so far.

When shooting isn't coming easy to me, which is often actually, I tend to fall back on technique, doing what I've done before - hey, it worked, right? Why not try it again, now, when I'm otherwise fallow. Now. Without being too self-critical, I can point out to myself that there might be a more satisfying way in this situation.

And that's what I told myself yesterday. Going back to the wall - really just walking by on my way somewhere - I thought, maybe it's not about framing so much as it is about seeing. Maybe it's not about geography either. Maybe it's just about sitting with what happens to occupy the viewfinder, trusting that maybe there's something there.

I'm not sure I can find the words to express the process, the sharp intake of breath when I see something in camera that I'd not noticed, as though a world had opened before me. It is a blessing and it is nothing except what it is.

Blessings

Marco

Returning for the first time

I've walked past that garage wall for years, every time I visit this market. It's in the back of the parking lot and while I might not venture down in that direction every time I stop by, surely it has entered my field of vision many times.

And yet, there I was, seeing it for the first time.

Some version of this scene is what always captures me whenever I have the attention to notice - the human wall with layers of injuries and repairs; the spritely tree spout with healing injuries and hopeful growth of its own. The two appear to me to be comfortable in one another's presence. (Oh, I know - this is just human talk, but still, I have to understand the universe in some way, right?)

What I come to as I see this is how I pass by these sorts of scenes much more often than I notice them. These are opportunities to remember something basic in my life - that just like the garage wall and this tree spout, I am always facing the opportunity to grow and connect. And that I can see something new even though I've trod the same ground many times without noticing.

Remember that there is always the possibility of connection and vision, no matter how familiar the terrain. And let that truth be enough to move you through your day.

Blessings,

Marco

Clutter and purpose

There’s so much to focus on, so much to consider in the course of getting through the day. And our work lives lead us to patterns, the habits that we use to get things done.  So it gets messy in the space where we work, where we spend our days doing what we do.

No surprise here. But what I notice when I come upon the space someone else has created is how personal the clutter is, how what seems meaningless to me reflects a deeper order known only to the one whose home space it is.

I’ve come to understand that I have a relatively limited vocabulary for articulating the meaning that’s inherent in the places that people create for themselves. I will see some jarring element and read it as confusion or anger or tension. Yet what’s really going on often has an energy very different from those words. I make a mistake when I think I know what works for me and measure others from that perspective.

This is easier for me to see from a distance. That's why I'm here (indeed, that's why I'm always here) - to notice and to expand into all that I might might see.

Blessings,

Marco

 

Holding it together

When I come to this place, I walk with my camera and I intend to bring a new image into the world. I walk slowly, noticing my body moving, and I see and feel and remember the wind and the chill spring sensations that make up my momentary world.

Yet as I walk, there is struggle - I want to create an image that establishes my presence, that marks this place and this time as unique and important in a changing, inattentive, blessed world.

Ah, I know. I don't always remember, but I do know: this business of looking and seeing, of making connection and art - it's complicated, fragile. The harder I try, the littler it gets. Like grace, it comes unbidden. My job is to maintain the stance of openness, to stay with what's in front of me, trusting that when it's ready, what is to be seen will stand forth for me.

And maybe that's the work for all of us - because we never know where the divine will show up.

Blessings

Marco

We are all fading

Even after living with a late winter amaryllis every year for the past while, I am still humbled by the flamboyant beauty of these glorious beings. Each year, my mornings are brightened by its presence and each year the day proceeds more easily with it presiding over the room - from stem to bud to blossom, it is truly a miracle.

And so perhaps it's not unusual that I am overcome by surprise as the flowers fade and wilt. It happens every year, no question, and every year the process is the same. Yet I am surprised.

I've noticed, though, that at some moment, when the petals have shrivelled and seed pods are emerging from the death that surrounds them, a transition happens. I'm not referring to how the plant marches along its path of decay, although that is what's happening and it's quite a process to observe. Rather I notice that I have let go of holding on to the beauty of blossoms and accepted that the time has come for a deeper, quieter beauty. Wrinkles, textures on leaves and stems, these overtake the joyous, brilliant colors.The shapes are more complex; the leaves seem more expressive, saying harder things.

So this becomes a time for me to appreciate what is there, the old and the dying. And a good thing to appreciate in an amaryllis - we are all fading.

Blessings,

Marco

Texture of thin ice

Sometimes the illusion is more engaging than the reality. And what's interesting is to cultivate the ability to know when that will be the case. In this instance, the water was coated with a delicate cover of ice that was only slightly colder than the water - it was thin ice, barely enough to notice and certainly not enough to venture out on.

So there it was, shiny with colors and textures that spoke to me, well beyond the simple facts of what was there. It was such a wonderfully ambiguous visual moment, it captured me before I captured it.

In this case, I knew what I saw but I wasn't clear about what the camera would record. And indeed, what I saw was very different from this. And, as I'm increasingly coming to lately, what I was able to tease out of the image was considerably different - and more interesting - than what was initially recorded. Lots of changes, manipulation, re-seeing.

I'm fine with that - in fact, that's what I love about my work: the collaboration between (among?) the world around me, my vision, and the technology that supports that vision. To play with all of these is quite a wonder!

Blessings

Marco

Compost

It demands careful steps to tramp around this pond. It appears neglected although it harbors the remnants of more prosperous times. There are the bases of ancient, rusting lamps, marking the overgrown paths. Elderly, huge trees have broken limbs, having succumbed to wind or snow or age. Their remains provide an unreliable canopy, and their fallen branches or trunks blend into the ground, looking drawn and skeletal.

This small world, surrounded by noise, light, and traffic, sits in its own stillness. Its animal and vegetable inhabitants don't need our human contributions - the lamp post stumps or the muddy paths. There is nothing wrong here and nothing right - it just is.

Today, what I love about this place is the collision between what we have added over the years and the easy, uncomplicated composting that goes on without our attention. As we ignore this place, our artifacts return to a pointless beauty that we didn't expect or intend.

Somehow, that's just fine.

Blessings

Marco

What is there to see?

When I walk lately, I have to remind myself to look carefully, to engage my camera-eye. In the past, images seem to have come to me unbidden, as though they were waiting to be captured. Often I’ve had my camera with me – a happy circumstance. Other times, without a way to record, I'd simply notice and enjoy.

But lately, it seems like I’ve not been seeing that way. Lately, I have to remind myself that this form of vision is important to me, that I want to engage with what I see and extract images, to excite my curiosity and wonder, to move my heart, to shape my life.

It's clear, then: life comes at me with a certain velocity and direction, which invites you in a particular direction. But you don't need to go only that way: you can pay attention to what you know you love and shift course to come closer to that. A worthy intention...

Blessings,

Marco

Patterns and texture

I'm surprised by the ways in which objects in the world grow. It isn't always linear or straightforward or tidy. Sometimes we can know but more usually, it's impossible to discern the circumstances that have led to a particular structure.

It may be easier to see this in the natural world (especially in beech trees, which seem to relish the layers and textures that their growth reflects and celebrates) but it happens in our lives, my life as well.

In winter's coming, I am seeing the ways in which seemingly chance decisions have echoed through my life and helped to sculpt the shape and structure of how I am today. It's curious and hard to explain, especially to younger folks. The structures, the patterns - easy or hard - become clearer to me even as they continue to have an impact on me.

Yet I have noticed that the more troublesome patterns also become more readily visible to me. With that, the opportunity to shift how I am, to act in my own self-interest becomes possible. That's the blessing!

Marco

Getting to the warmth

We can feel the uncertain shift to cold, and perhaps we find ourselves a bit adrift with the transition, so uncertain. It is uneven, raw, confusing.How do we find a place of warmth, how do we move life toward that when the newness of winter looms, when comfortable patterns are disturbed?

Maybe what we need as winter builds is a secret place, mostly invisible and always warm, within.With such a place, we can sit with the debris of summer’s decline and welcome the memories it holds. We are free to move about and celebrate the darkness, knowing it is the next step toward the light.

Blessing for the return of the light.

Marc

Unclear

I am sitting, quiet, unclear about what is coming next. Am I ever clear about that? Well, actually, no, not really. But sometimes it feels like the routine of my days will handle the next-ness of life, for a time at least. So the drab blessing of sameness sits beside me and I watch the trade-off of familiar for excitement. Common enough, I suspect. And that's how it has often gone, I say with decidedly mixed feelings.

But this is a new time for me and now it's different, now it feels a bit like each day is new, even if only in some small way. That sense of routine, of familiarity is gone, so the bumps feel bumpier. And the trade-off? Well that's not the same either - I am much more likely to notice the push and pull of events and actions without making assumptions about how they make me feel - something about staying present. 

What do I make of this? I know in my head that letting go of the familiar (or seeing in a new way) invites access to a world I've seldom seen before, and at least parts of it seem new.That's a big deal - moving beyond habit, beyond familiar. I'll watch it, quiet, and see where it leads.

Blessings

Marco

Seeing

Supposing this image portrays what the full moon rising really looked like that evening. Are you surprised? I was. I hadn't realized or expected the dominance of blue in the image, not until I saw it in Lightroom. So, I'm sure I'll get asked - Is that color accurate? Is that what the rods and cones in my eyes actually transmitted to my brain as I breathed into the scene? Surely I don't know, I don't have a clue.

What I do know is the truth of the scene that feels inherent in this image - the mixture of darkness and light, the subtle distinction between moonlight and sunshine, the quiet of water, trees, hillside. It all somehow combined to plant a seed of a vision in my heart - so that what was there in that moment, what I saw and what my camera captured, it all becomes immaterial as I sit with what is in front of me in this moment.

It needn't be complicated; seeing is easy.

Blessings,

Marco

Secret places

This pond: even though many people see it, drive by it, maybe even walk around it, and perhaps know it, it is still a secret.

How does that work? As usual, I'm not really sure. But here's what I think. Many people move through their days focused so intently on what's in front of them, they hardly see what's to the side or what's up or down. Yes, I know - being attentive to what's in front of us is a useful discipline since we are more likely to be present when we're attentive that way.

Still and all, it feels to me as though we spend plenty of time being focused and what I wonder is whether we would find more of the secret places were we to let go a bit more, strive less, take off our glasses, look at the world always around us with accidental eyes.

Now of course, I'm only wondering here - it could be a bit scary to disconnect from our life's structure in that way, or at least a bit disorienting (especially the glasses part). But it might be worth a try. My intuition says we'd find ourselves in a world that appeared more beautiful (and thus more hopeful) than what we can otherwise access.

I'll tell you what: I'll give it a shot and report back.

Blessings,

Marco

Remembering

We walked our usual amble around the water, stopping at our usual places, looking for frogs or turtles or anything to help us remember our connection to something other than the urban haze. It is loud here in this almost-secluded spot. Surrounded by traffic and hurry, it would be easy to miss the jumble of the natural world that sits this close to us all the time.It would be easy to allow the tumult to grab our attention, rather than attending to what is in front of us.

So this meager pond, this forgotten refuge offers us an opportunity to find ourselves, replenish ourselves even in the face of the surrounding noise and grit. We can, if we choose, remember our connection to all living things. And, especially on this day, we can celebrate and mourn for the gains and losses well beyond our own, become part of a larger, blessed community that has always been possible.

Blessings

Marco