Bright Spots

One of the many leitmotifs of my days is that readers send me tips about all sorts of things, and, not infrequently, every one or two days maybe, I'll get an excited message saying, in effect, "look at this! Isn't this cool? I know you'll be interested in this!" And it will be something I've known about forever, consider old hat, haven't thought about in years, or have long been jaded about. Or just something I'm...over.

Far from minding those emails, though, I get a particular sort of happiness from them. They remind me that anything can be new to someone who hasn't encountered it before, who is discovering it for the first time.

These events in our lives are occasions for us, no matter how blasé anyone else might be. Art itself is like that. You always have a right to respond to art as if your experience of it is a significant event for you. My friend Jim Schley taught me that, when he spoke once with his characteristic feeling and wisdom about how reading a book is an occasion. A book isn't a static thing, unchanging, that sits on a shelf, outside of time; it's a potential interaction, because the volatility between what's written and its reader can be a sort of alchemy under the right conditions. How good a book is for you depends on when you come to it, what you bring to it, whether it fits what you need or what you're ready for when you encounter it. Any "great" book can be dull and flat for us unless some or all of those conditions pertain.

Every day, someone discovers photography, or some new potential in it, or even just some bit of equipment, or an artist, or a body of work, or an idea that seems to them worth getting excited about. Every day, lots of things that are old hat to me are new to someone, and hold energy, and life, and promise, and newness for them. I like being reminded of that.

Mike

Send this post to a friend

Featured Comment by Robert Howell: "I was this morning reviewing Tsure-zure Gusa (Essays in Idleness) by the 14th century Yoshida Kenko-boshi, having discovered it last night while reading an Italian essay on post-war Japan! One of Kenko's observations: 'To sit alone in the lamplight with a book spread out before you, and hold intimate converse with men of unseen generations—such is a pleasure beyond compare.'"

Featured Comment by Catherine: "'In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few." Shunryu Suzuki-roshi (1905–1971). As a tonic for the jaded, I heartily recommend his book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. And, for visual accompaniment, John Daido Loori.

Mike replies: Catherine, I agree. I love that book. And it's amazing how much of the discussion in it, as well as the advice in Eugen Herrigel's Zen in the Art of Archery, applies to photographing.

Comments

[Marc Rochkind]

Mike... have you seen the Nikon S? Came out in late 1950, but I just got mine yesterday. The viewfinder is terrible, much worse than my Canon G9. But, like the G9, you can get an accessory finder, although that adds bulk and cost, of course. The Nikkor lenses are, from what I understand, terrific, but if the S is any indication, they're not much for cameras.

--Marc

[Bryce Lee]

Written Communication, connection with another living being, information be it useful or otherwise is what helps keep most of us grasping for more.

[Libby]

Everything old is new again ;-)

A newbie I know sent me a note on his discovery of a "new" technique of manually zooming a DSLR lens while a slow shutter is open. I was doing that in 1980 with film.

The most important thing is learning though, and for some thins like narrow sector techniques, the discovery timeline doesn't matter much.

Now I just wish my friend would stop sending me HDR stuff ha ha.

[Paul]

I think the best term for that is passion. Through time, we all become a little jaded, and it's exciting to have our own passions reignited. Passion is contagious.

[JonA]

Amen, Mike. A great way to look at other aspects of life too. I need to keep this in mind when people are irritating me and realize that I would feel or react the same way. I can get so pessimistic.

I was thinking about how music just turns on a light a few weeks back. I had bought "In a Doghouse" which is the rereleased Throwing Muses first album, the Chains Changed EP, the old demo tapes and recordings of previously unrecorded material. I bought this based on my enjoyment of "The Real Ramona" and other albums after your recommendation. Well, I listened to the first album a few times and it did nothing for me. The album sat unused for about 3 months and then played it again for no particular reason. All of a sudden it opened up to me (or I opened up to it) and I wouldn't stop listening to it. I don't know what changed but music does that to me a lot. Same thing happened with Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville" after my wife loaned it to me. I thought, "Eh." Then after multiple listens I thought, "This is brilliant!"

[Charlie H]

I feel better knowing I am not the only one pointing out awesome photographers that have already been featured here. ch

[Will]

Well, to pile on, here's something I found a couple years ago that people occasionally send me, and that people always get excited by when I send it to them:

Blind Spot Test 1

Blind">http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/cuius/idle/percept/blindspot.htm>Blind Spot Test 2

[Jan Kwarnmark]

http://www.jornmark.se/
This man is a university teacher and a photographer. He has made a couple of books about old industry.

[Farhiz Karanjawala]

"An idea that seems worth getting excited about."

Life in a Tuscan Town.

[Brad Davis]

Your comment that a book is not static misses the mark. While the book really is static, it is you, is not static. What you take from a book depends as much on what you have to bring to it, as what is in it. Just as you will never step in the same river twice, you can never approach a book as the same person. Thus, your friends comment that reading a book is an occasion is quite accurate, but it is we who change, not the book. Of course the same thing can be said for any work of art - that's why I still have my copy of Steichen, purchased in the early 1960's.

The amazing thing is how new something I haven't paid attention to in years, can be. (Found my old copy of Lootens recently.)

Bradford

[Gary Haigh]

Shunryu Suzuki-roshi is still very alive for me and I read a few lines every day. Catherine is right.