Confined by Covid to a narrow barrier island, fifteen months in exile, I needed solace. I’d learn to fish. I assayed my prey. A pole and a line would not do. Spears and traps were out. No, this was a job for the trusty Kodak, capture and release.
The harvest was promising -- hundreds, at times thousands, of very small aquatic acrobats swimming together in circles, then darting off in one direction, then another, then another, a free-for-all all. Sometimes choreography, sometimes chaos. I pressed on.
With changing light, shadows, wind, and water, each image was unpredictable, ephemeral. The patterns were intoxicating, but the colors were drab, the fabric muted. I would perform metamorphosis.
With digital alchemy, the work became a kaleidoscope of hues and textures—and a reflection of my mercurial moods. Bounded by their own reality, like a lucid dream, the lines between real and unreal became blurred. Some images were lyrical, others discordant, but always very different from the raw originals. And, they sated my long lust for the sensual aura of Japanese block prints and scrolls.
I was excited, even joyful – a rare and wonderful gift in a period of confusion and fear and random death.
