He Lives!
Another blog post! First in almost a year, which is, frankly, embarrassing. I mean, I consider myself a writer for goodness’ sake; two-bit maybe, half-assed, hackneyed. But still, a writer.
And I can’t even keep up with a damned blog.
OK, sure, there was a pandemic, and that certainly focuses the mind on things that are contextually more important. And it’s not like writing a blog that very few people will read is any big deal. And it’s certainly always easier to go out and take pictures, or take a trip, or work out, or eat, or read the paper, or go to the grocery store, or…I’ve made this point, at least.
It’s still mortifying.
REALLY, I’M SERIOUS ABOUT THIS. REALLY!!
I don’t typically push myself to do something if I think there’s a reasonable chance I might subsequently not care about it. I suppose all intentions - good or bad - can fall into this trap. I had every intention of maintaining this blog regularly. Really!
So today I’ve updated the website galleries with some new images, replaced some old ones. And here I am actually updating the blog.
One challenge has been answering the question of what’s this all for? Who’s the audience? Which is kind of like trying to answer the question, “What’s the meaning of life?” For me, right now, I can’t necessarily answer either. They’re both works in progress. Now, I think this is pretty much par for the course for most of us because we’re all ongoing works. But as the question relates to the maintenance of this philosophical and more or less photo-centric blog in addition to the website, I’ve dropped the ball.
I won’t promise it won’t happen again. Because it might. But I am going to momentarily pick it up again, keep at it at least semi-regularly.
ON FAILURE, INSIGNIFICANCE, AND FAR WEST TEXAS
Take a look at the above image. I took this in the historic cemetery in Terlingua, TX back in February, when my wife and I tip-toed out of our COVID bubble to get back into the world, taking our first ever trip to Big Bend National Park and environs. (Only to return abruptly when a freak winter storm struck Texas; yeah, we drove home in that, but I digress.)
This was just around sunrise. It was a gray, overcast morning, with an opaque sky devoid of detail or texture. Great if you’re in the woods taking pictures of waterfalls, not so much if you’re out in the harsh landscape of far west Texas.
The cemetery itself was a wonder, with its homemade grave markers made of piled rough stones, wind-worn wooden crosses strung with beads or faded plastic flowers, and the candles, beer bottles, and photographs lovingly placed on top of the stones or inside niches built into the piles marking the burial sites. A light morning breeze rustled the ragged creosote bushes against each other, the stones, and chicken wire fencing around some grave sites.
It was impossible not to wonder about the souls whose physical remains were laid to rest there, or about the arduous lives they must’ve led in that hot, dry, dusty, wind-blown village. It was impossible not to feel insignificant - another tiny grain of sand on the vast beach that comprises humanity, including those who’ve gone before and those still to come - while standing among those stones and crosses in that remote, seemingly forlorn place.
And let me add this about the Big Bend region: it is remote, far from anything resembling civilization as most of us live it every day. The nearest town of any consequence is almost a hundred miles north. Midland-Odessa, the nearest population center qualifying as a metropolitan area is twice that far. And the nearest big city - El Paso - is 300 miles away. To get to Big Bend, you really have to want to go.
And honestly? That’s part of what makes it worth visiting.
A CURTAIN RISES…
As I walked around and read the names, many faded beyond recovery, a sliver of that low cloud cover lifted off the horizon to allow a smidgen of pale sunlight to leak in underneath and reveal the silhouettes of Big Bend’s mountains in the distance. The light popped across the landscape, fell across the burial mounds and the crosses, and lit the winding pathways between the graves. It wasn’t beautiful side light by any means, but it was still special, as though God were saying, “Let me show you just a hint of what I can do.”
That moment made me want to capture the scene. We’re all connected to the Divine in some way but, as simple human creatures, it’s difficult to reach or experience transcendence. As an artist, though, accomplished or not, you still want to capture a glimmer of that spark if you can, like a lightning bug in a jar, so you can give somebody else a glimpse of that special moment.
But here’s the problem: I’ve been unable - I mean, I have failed completely - to create an image that comes close to capturing what it felt to be there that morning. I’ve processed this image multiple times in multiple ways to recreate that feeling - that sense of sublime awe. But nothing I’ve done has been worthy.
Normally, as a result, I’d never show this image. If I can’t create at least some notion of the experience, it never sees the light of day.
CONFUCIUS, VINCE, AND THE VALUE OF STICKING TO IT
But I think it’s in our failures and fall downs that we learn the most about ourselves. Like the old adage from Vince Lombardi or Confucius, or maybe both: it’s not about getting knocked down, it’s about getting your ass back up. Confucius probably put it more elegantly, so I guess it takes a football coach to put it an a way we can all understand.
I’m not happy with this image because it doesn’t convey what I felt that day. But you know what? I’ll probably try it again. And again after that. I can’t promise it won’t be another year before I post to this blog again. I hope that’s not the case but it could be. Even if it is, even if another twelve months rolls by, there will be another post
Because, you see, even though the work and the progress are slow, they’re still ticking away. And I am too.