When I photograph something, I'm very aware of relating with it. But how does that interaction show itself? The image certainly implies interactions: a focus of attention directed to a subject...a waxing or waning desire to photograph it...a reckoning with the technology of the camera...a decision about how to frame the subject of my gaze. Much of all that seems to be done with some conscious awareness and intention. But the complexity, the breadth, the depth of that interaction is only hinted at in the image itself.
When I bring the images up in a viewer -- many hundreds and even thousands over time -- am I surprised by them? For the most part, no. At first glance, what I see is generally what I expected. On occasion, even at first glance, I am surprised by something, but, more often, it's only as I sit with the images and let them penetrate layers of assumption and expectation, that something new, something unexpected emerges.
I had not really thought a lot about this process until a few days ago when I uploaded this image of some eastern tent caterpillars that had recently emerged from their "tent" on a sweetgum tree:
What surprised me was the red tint on this image. I had not noticed anything like this as I took the photo -- neither sweetgum bark nor tent "cats" are reddish. However, I knew immediately how the red wash had become part of the image: I took this photo early in the morning, looking toward the sun that was just barely up over the ridges...and I was wearing a coral-red t-shirt.
In the instance of this particular image, my participation was reflected in a way that spoke more directly to a co-creative process with an "other" -- the sun, the tree, the caterpillars, the camera, my shirt.
For me, eye-to-eye macro-encounters -- especially with species other than humans -- introduce another question: who (really) is doing the gazing? Such are the contemplations of life in Frogpond Holler yet to be born into words...
