I know color is my forte, but I am experimenting with black and white. I’d like to create more depth in my photos, and I am constantly working on it. Well, ok, not “constantly,” but I’m working on it I promise. My problem is getting the lighting right and finding the right textures so it’s as if the photo is tactile. I know black and white is good stuff, but gosh darn it all I’ve got a problem with getting it right.
I took the top two images when I went on a European Vacation with my friend the summer after my junior year of college. Specifically these came from London, which I promise will have it’s own photographic journey post. I took a lot of pictures, so it’ll take a while for me to upload them all and to tell you all about my experiences. The bottom picture is from a Gari Melcher’s Home and Studio at Belmont where I did (one of my) internship at. Again, another story for a different time.
My main focus for this post is simply showing and posting some of my black and white artwork and hopefully getting some feedback! Let me know what you all think!
The air is thick with a silence, weighing upon my eyelids. Vibrating with a subtle unspoken energy that beckons of change and of storm. It is quiet as I pass to my car, no breeze to break the stagnant air thick on my skin. I am walking through water, walking through energy that whips at my ankles and rises up my thighs. It will be an early autumn this year, the air already holds the crisp whisper of autumn. I felt it in July.
It is quiet on this saturday afternoon in august. There’s a particular type of silence that accompanies the dog days of summer, where a last ditch at spontaneity slowly dies to the soft rhythm of wool sweaters and windy coffee dates on wednesday afternoons.
Change is nipping at my heels, slyly enough to make itself known but not for me to know what is about to happen. Some might say that the pressure and the rain of a summer storm can befuddle the senses and romanticize the inevitable. Yet i’ve rarely felt so grounded, so sure.
Rain exhausts itself against the window and pavement sighing in the drunken relief of being free.
I am the rain on your lips, you are the change at my heels. You creep up along the back of my calves, stroking the line behind my knees, kissing your way up my vertebrae, up my neck, finding my cheeks, seeing my lips. I breathe you in and you fill my lungs with a freshness that reeks of pleasure and stings of pain. There is pain in freedom, creeping in my heartbeat. Pulsing.
I ache for the Fall.