February 7, 2013

I'm thinking about a photograph I want to share here but I am unable to connect it to my thoughts.  Perhaps there is simply no connection.  This is, after all, a writer's life, through the lens.  I'm halfway sorry about the way I named this blog because I realize, now I have an intense need to live up to it.  Whatever that means.  I think it means different things to different people, and if you know me, then you know I have expectations of myself which far exceed any expectation I have of anyone else, whether known to me, family, or famous.  So if you don't mind, I think I will just be forgiving to myself for now and quit expecting so much.

I took this photo on the morning we were to leave Duluth, a city which seems like home to me.  We'd spent two wonderful days and nights there, and the plan was to spend three.  But on this rainy Saturday morning we chose to head for home, as within a week we would be packing up and hitting the road for New Mexico.  There was so much to be done at home yet, and so much to pack.

We drove up and down the city streets, looking for a place we'd heard had good breakfast.  We found it, parked the car and hurried almost two blocks to get back to this famous place, because it was drizzly out and while it wasn't cold, the air had a chill.  I tucked my bulky camera inside my shirt and ducked my head down inside my sweatshirt hood as we hurried along like hungry, featherless birds.

The restaurant was warm and inviting.  It was popular, too, as evidenced by the number of patrons.  We walked into what could only be described as a gallery, or perhaps, a lobby where people milled about with no real direction.  We were welcomed and pointed toward a counter where we could order a special coffee and muffin or breakfast sandwich to-go, or we could choose to be seated and dine-in.  We chose to be seated.  I loved the place as it showcased local art on the walls, most of which was photography on canvas.  Each print was for sale.  I left my camera on our table and walked the length of each wall in the room, judging myself against each print-for-sale.

I will always remember this place, although I cannot remember the name, as the place I had the best Greek omelet of my life.  I don't wish to try to recreate it.  The Viking was less thrilled than I, when we discovered the place was vegetarian, so the sausage we ordered wasn't what we expected.  Poor Viking.  When it was time to leave, I stuffed my camera back inside my shirt and cradled it as though it was a newborn baby as I waited for the Viking to run down the street to retrieve the car.  I was ducking under an overhang, happy that I didn't have to run through the rain with him.  I took my camera out and shot a few random shots.  Then, this wonderful young man with the guitar came around the corner.  There were a few seconds during which he was walking toward me, but mostly I was able to get him walking away. 

I love this shot because it breaks all the rules of good photography and yet it still works.  I am, after all, a good rule-breaker.  Technically this should be just focused on the guy with guitar.  But I loved the rain and the muted colors, and some of the architecture.  So I left it all in.  Even the 10 speed bike, it all seems a bit junky on the right side of the photo, if you focus on that.  But, with all that left in, it all leads the eye back to the guy with guitar in bright shirt. 

I am happy to hear your thoughts.