In the expansive mist of morning, when my soul takes time and room to breathe and stretch, I gaze around my room and wonder what I might do with myself. My eyes light on the top shelf of a bookcase, where stands a handmade paper album. Pages of rough texture wait to absorb something well-constructed, like a bed of rice made to nestle a complicated curry. What poem or drawing or photograph would be worthy to lie in those lush furrows? Surely nothing as lowly as what I would create. Yet I long to put my time, my love, my hands to work, to make something. I want to slowly blend my life into some material. The satisfaction is exquisite. I felt it once, birthing and raising children. The medium responds, reacts, engages, resists. It is not a work of power; it is a work of love.
I have begun to notice an impatient annoyance building up in me when I look at photography sites. I am enamored of the images, but so often the captions leave me irritated. I do want to know what I’m looking at and where it was found. I don’t like the flavor of language that suggests violence. “I captured”, “I shot”, “I took”, “I caught”. Why not just say that you were there? It was there. You made a photograph of it at that place and in time. Doesn’t that sound more respectful somehow? It does to me.
I like art that shows that respect. An artist is generous with time, patient, slow, allowing something to unfold, gently. There is a generosity of presence in art. An artist gives herself – body, consciousness, energy, and love – into a relationship with her work and medium. That’s what feels so rich, pleasing and compelling in a well-made piece. Whatever it is. I am often so task-oriented that I don’t think of that. I was taught to be efficient, neat and accurate. In preparing a meal, for instance. When I began cooking for Steve, he’d ask me about supper, and I’d tell him the steps I planned to take and ask for his input on decisions. He’d respond with something like, “Just make it with love.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. I think I have a better idea now. My photographs have since become more care-full: close-ups attending to focus, light and color turn out differently than snapshots. I want my life to be like that, too. (click on the photos below to see them in a full size slideshow)
© 2015, essay and photographs, Priscilla Galasso, All rights reserved
The BeZine 
Lovely photos. I like this: “Why not just say that you were there? It was there. You made a photograph of it at that place and in time. Doesn’t that sound more respectful somehow? It does to me.” I agree—sometimes, with my photos on my blog, I just quote a bit of text from the blog post / poem that for me connects to the image.
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I like that approach very much. 🙂
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Beautiful photos, scilla. I especially like the leaf on the wall! You know, I had not thought before about the words that people use to describe how they photograph, but you are absolutely right. I like your way of phrasing it much better – “you were there and it was there.”
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Thanks, Corinna. That wall is an old CCC structure in the Shawnee National Forest, a very special place to me. I’m glad you like it, too!
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