Old Time

[Dashur]

OOH! I like a lot!

 

[jcdeboever]

OOH! I like a lot!

Thanks

 

[Gary A.]

These are all nice, but #3 is the exceptional image. Well done.

Looking at these, I can hear Cher singing "If You Could Turn Back Time".

 

[jcdeboever]

These are all nice, but #3 is the exceptional image. Well done.

Looking at these, I can hear Cher singing "If You Could Turn Back Time".

Thanks bud. I really studied that clock for a minute or two. I took one image. In my journal, I wrote. What am I looking at? The elements that draw me to this "working" clock... scratch's... think of the number of years and turns of the dials, the winding mechanism... And the hand painted, lost art of a treasured Art Deco font, so delicate but stable. Once I wrote this, I could only shoot it this way.

 

[Gary A.]

That journal is working for you ... turning your thoughts into photographs.

 

[jcdeboever]

That journal is working for you ... turning your thoughts into photographs.

Thanks. I did this when I was painting. It was simply a way for me to stay the course during a long battle with an en caustic painting. I had custom made journals with grid paper made for me by a local book binder in Detroit (out of business). But I recently found a new source, Shinola that has grid paper, which is very important to me.
Shinola Hard Linen Journal

So I use them mainly for projects but find myself using it more and more. If I don't have the means to use it at that moment, than I use the record feature that was included in the latest firmware update (XT2 XP2). Then I enter it in the journal, along with a small print at a later date.

 

[Gary A.]

I carry a Reporter's Notebook with me, (old habit).

Something Like This

Fits in a pocket.

 

[smoke665]

@jcdeboever here you go, from one my artsy fartsy days, to go with your clock.........

TIME

Neither friend nor foe, loving or forgiving like the mechanical movement of a well oiled clock, it marches steadily onward; without hesitation or care only a measure of our universe.

As youngsters we view it from the beginning, stretched out before us like an endless highway further than the eye can see with so many possibilities.

With so much yet before us there’s little need to conserve, but worse;

We waste it foolishly on frivolous pursuits, risking all with a vengeance. Then the day comes, no longer children but young adults with families, homes, and responsibilities.

All those choices once viewed with wonder are suddenly gone. No longer free to do as we please the halter of life has bound us tightly, pulling first one way then the other, as each day takes more and more of us, like some dreadful curse.

So quickly middle age is on us, straddling the line between what once was, and what is to be. The hopes and dreams of foolish children are but a memory; lost in a blur, forcing us to finally see our vulnerabilities.

Like a top spinning out of control, we rush down life’s highway; till in the blink of an eye, we find ourselves standing at the end of the road looking back. How can it be that what once was viewed as endless is so very short looking back from the reverse?

Reluctantly we realize it’s to late to change the probabilities.

In the vastness of time, we are nothing more than a speck of sand on the road.

William Raber, 2015