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mpls

Friday, I got OUT! Many layers of designer clothing were involved–labels like Cuddle Duds, Smartwool,  LL Bean and Columbia–but by golly, I got outside with my camera. Despite the heavy gray haze and dirty snow,  I was so excited that I kept breaking into grins and–yes–an occasional giggle.

I was down near one of the shelters and guys who normally do a lot of nodding and self-talk were actually routing themselves far around me. Women with crazy eyes who also self-talk (“Okay. Okay. Now check the ISO. Get closer. Oh sweet Mother of Pearl! Look at that brickwork!) are given a wide berth wherever we go.

I was back indoors three hours later, snug in a coffee shop , happy happy happy and checking out my shots.

warehousec

These three are from the backside of an empty warehouse that I have been eyeballing for weeks now.

warehousea

warehouseb

Is that not the finest door you have seen this year? I cannot believe it has taken me so long to check this place out.

My wheelman, Kemo Sabi, went out with me on Sunday afternoon because I desperately needed to shoot some concrete and rebar and power lines and I was just not prepared to wander around the Hundred Acres Warehouse Park strictly solo. One semi came in, but no cars in a period of maybe an hour, so I would have been all kinds of jumpy by myself. I was amazed at the absence of security patrols, but we can assume that somewhere there now exists plenty of security cam footage of a camera-toting woman  being tailed by a silver Camry.

I can’t identify most of the stuff I shot (besides wooden crates and an orphan tire) but I was pretty impressed with how everything was all artfully arranged like so many still life studies.

warehouse2

warehouse1

whouse3

whouse2

whouse5

****          ****          ****

“Hundred Acre Warehouse Park?” That sounds suspiciously like Pooh’s Hundred Acre Woods. I think it might be a good time (at least in Wisconsin) for the following words from our friends in the Hundred Acre Woods:

“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily.
“So it is.”
“And freezing.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.” 

A.A.Milne

I think the lock is there to keep this door from twirling skyward, belting out happy door songs till it disappears from our sight.

blue gold wabi door

To me, the whole reason for being a photographer is to tell stories, either the ones that are in my head or the ones that spring from what I see.  In doing so, I also want to offer canvas to a viewer to tell his or her own story.

I took these pictures nearly a year ago. I like them. They’re not Art with a capital A, but they’re interesting.  If I could remember where I took these shots, I’d go back and work at achieving much better composition. What bothers me is that no matter how often I’ve tried, I am absolutely unable to weave a narrative to go with the visuals.

20120217_2891 as Smart Object-1

Is there a story here? Yes…

20120217_2872 as Smart Object-1

Do I know what it is? No…

20120217_2881 as Smart Object-1

Can I make something up?

20120217_2873 as Smart Object-1

Apparently not.

“For the love of God, Montressor!”

20120329_4153 as Smart Object-1

The Cask of Amontillado, alternative ending.

Door #6 in a series of 12 offerings.

storm door in stang

Probably the perfect metaphor for the mind of a teenager whose pain medication provides an interesting view of the world and who is greatly vexed by the plethora of tubes sprouting from his body.

And who is very much alive.

Thank you, my friends, for all your kindnesses.