"Yea, all which it inherit - shall dissolve, and like this insubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on - and our little life is rounded with a sleep." Tempest Act 4 William Shakespeare
Don't know what else to call this post. If you a frequent visitor to my blog you know I love making images with flowers. Between Saturday's early morning trek and today in the "lab"...flowers on the brain I guess.
Every so often I come across an artist's name that I haven't thought of in a long time. I've admired so many. I can't remember exactly where Giorgio's name came up but from somewhere I was directed to a New York Times article. It was either from art surfing or a magazine, like Art Forum. From there, I read several NYT articles.
Whenever I see or hear something I really like I tend to go overboard and try and absorb the essence like a giant reef sponge. At some point I'll get it out of my system. But not entirely of course. Everything that affects you deeply changes your atoms a bit.
After reading the articles and looking at several galleries of his pictures I went into my office this morning with a cup of Sulawesi and a couple of cookies and I started shooting.
Ala' Morandi. Less the muted colors.
When it's just too hot outside to photograph I always have my craft table. The table levels off at 38 inches so I can work on the surface without bending over. I've used it countless times for building "little" sets.
As long as this 95 degree weather sticks around I'll continue to work inside.
I have always recognized the photographers that have been an influence on me. From the very big influences like Aaron Siskind, Wynn Bullock, and Brassai. Today I give the nod to Franco Fontana.
I first saw several of his images in a photography magazine I purchased back in the seventies. I believe I still have that magazine somewhere in my closet.
His landscapes and use of color were stunning.
The two images I am posting today certainly illustrate the influence of Mr. Fontana, although at the moment I made these images, some forty years later, his name was not on the tip of my mind but he was somewhere back there slipping through the layers of time.