the lost man chronicles
the daily chronicle
Thursday, November 10, 2005
This morning I realized how therapeutic photography can be.
This last week has been somewhat physically trying for me, as I have been slowly nursing myself back to health after consciously subjecting myself to elements that brought on a bout of asthma, and subsequently a weeklong struggle with bronchitis.
My treatment has included allowing myself to sleep 6-7 hours the last couple of days instead of the 3-4 Iíve been holding at steadily for the last month or so; taking extraordinary doses of vitamins in the form of pills and a few bottles of Odwalla a day; and generally thinking positively and laughing at myself for my lack of discipline and resigned laissez faire to indulgence.
And although I consistently tell myself ďNever again, never againĒ whenever I have to wake up in the middle of the night to stand in the bathroom for twenty minutes, hacking up all my congestion until it begins to painfully scrape at my throat, I also find myself dreamily remembering how it was all worth it. It makes me woozy to think that despite my lessons learned, that my devious mind will fool me into this situation again, just as it has many times in the past.
Nonetheless and allthemore, all the medicine I initially took to treat the more serious symptoms severely deadened my senses, and I so Iíve been lagging behind in my art work and havenít been all-too-enthusiastically inclined toward the usual creative toil. And so, as I stepped out the door to head to work this morning, I lamented the stupor Iím in and simply grinned my way to the office.
My usual traversal pulls me across the City from west to east, and in the interim from here to there I have the option and privilege of crossing the wholesale floral district of Manhattan on 28th Street. Thus I did, and in the midst of my crossing I was inspired to take a few photos.
The wet sidewalks, combined with the extraordinary vibrancy and variety of floral color lining them piqued me to no end. Moreover, as Iíve gleefully photographed many times before, I decided to shot from the floor, so that I could also capture the magic motion of pedestrians as they walked by.
I was so ecstatic after reviewing what I had shot then, along with those from the last night and the night before, that I suddenly felt this burst of great energy and exuberance rush forth inside me. It felt good to be alive again! and in the mood to do what I love to do, and perhaps do best.
It was at that moment that I realized how therapeutic photography can be.
p.s. After having this epiphany a few blocks from the office, I came in and opened my e-mail to find an invitation by a concrete-and-steel NY Gallery to join as ďone of a select number of artists: at an exhibit in March to be called Tripping The Light Fantastic: An Exhibition of Fine Art Photography.
As you might imagine, that felt quite therapeutic too...Life certainly is Wonderful.
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