Fragments - V

---

12/06/2018 - 3:58PM

There are times, few, and serene, when I can look upon the ever sprawling growth of man and his works and behold it in its cosmic form. As a peculiar outgrowth of the mysterious forces of the cosmos. The beauty and the ugliness in it all as little more than a briefly flickering flame in the great and dancing fire of the world. But I still prefer the presence of the trees and the rivers to the oceans of gray concrete and towers of glass. And despite such serene visions I cannot help but feel that there is some deep wretchedness to civilized existence.

---

Fragments - IV

---

12/05/2018 - 10:14AM

The bones in my hands ache from the cold, and the deep breaths of cold air burn my throat and lungs. So I have come to rest on this rocky hill in a sunlit grove of young trees to collect a bit of the winter sun. It helps the joints to move a little easier, and quells the burning. The spirit of the world is stern, and the earth is often a hard place. It seems more often given to the heat of violence than to stagnant peace. I have spent enough time with it to understand why men have fled from it, built fences in the world and in their minds to keep the wild at bay. A body warmed by the hearth and the home is more comfortable than cold bones. But I am not convinced that in our dream-led flight we have not lost more than we have gained.

---

Fragments - III

---

12/01/2018 - 8:34AM

And what is the subject of my images? The rich tapestries of the forest? The meandering currents of the rivers? Yes, at some level. The natura naturata of Spinoza, so to speak. But deeper too than this, the intimation of the natura naturans, the enlivening flame of the world. And through this intimation a re-opening of the question of the sacred, the divine, and also thereby a re-opening of the question of our place among the immensity of things.

---

Fragments - II

---

11/27/2018 - 10:41AM

There is always something that I can never capture in a photograph. The remainder which is never contained in the work. The essence of the matter. The lived experience. A photograph is at best a kind of murky window with which to gesture toward the truth of the experience, a truth which lies always outside the limits of the reproduction. A good photograph is a clearer window.

---

Fragments - I

---

11/25/2018 - 7:54AM

The golden radiance of the morning sun alighting the mist that hangs over the rolling ocean of evergreens. And in the distance the shaded blue peaks and the fresh white snow come to rest atop the towers of stone. The glory of the world, a reminder of the immense beauty of things.

---