The following photographic series is a blending of art and photography in ways that allow an expression; an awareness of what I chose to photograph and the application of art to the photograph. Attempting to marry these two genres, creating a recognizable image which is acceptable to both the photographer and the artist and viewed as a whole, is what I would like the viewer to perceive. These perceptions may enter as a dream, as a willingness to understand that different questions may be posed about this process and the answers can be discovered by others.
Nature plays an important aspect in this series as I often find great inspiration within the feel of the earth. Working within this flow excites the process of creating new work from my photographs. As an artist who derives much satisfaction learning how to work with my photographs and instilling within them the use of art materials it is with much anticipation that I present this series of work to you. My writing accompanying some of the pieces comes forth from ideas they speak to me about, ideas that represent them. Thank you, Susy
White light bends everything,
and wherever it goes I follow.
It’s certain that joy is there,
love and all the things that make that happen.
White light bends everything.
The sandy path touched my toes and wrapped its goodness all around them.
Sinking deep into it.
I played there.
Games of pretend.
The butterflies were flapping their white wings around me.
And beckoning me to chase them.
Later on.
I dug the sand out between my toes
and tasted it.
With my fingers.
It’s goodness now wrapped all around my tongue.
Pearly little specks of sand.
Gritty stuff in my mouth.
I went back down that sandy path.
Whenever I could.
To pretend some more.
Even today.
I go there.
Pretending.
Like you do.
There was a blue piece of cellophane and I placed it over the photograph.
I moved it and every time I did something changed.
Parts of it weren’t blue.
In places that weren’t white, yet.
They had something else there.
I never would have seen if I hadn’t moved the cellophane.
Some dreams you wake up and there they are, apparent, like you bite into an apple and feel the juice burst into your mouth. Other dreams you are sleeping within ‘frames that slide across each other, forming something not yet clear.’ Some dreams occur slowly as I imagine the rocks dream. Some occur quick as a bird swooping downward onto a branch to rest.
All dreams are gifts. They are the essence inside us, whether we are asleep or awake. Whether we know them clearly or as a seed not yet opened.