I've been reading Andre Agassi book "Open" about his life in tennis.  I really don't care much about tennis but his story is really more about a life of dedication to perfecting a craft, though tragically, the impetus to do so comes from Agassi' domineering father and Agassi' desire to please him.

And just a few nights after starting the book, I viewed a fascinating biopic on legendary football coach Vince Lombardi, infamous for once declaring: " Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing."

One feels equal parts admiration and pity for these men: admiration for the achievements and success they realized by a relentless pursuit of perfection, and pity for what they ultimately sacrifice to achieve this perfect state.

One comes away from these accounts asking: "Can excellence be realized in a more balanced way?"  No one would argue that discipline, persistence and sacrifice are necessary at times in order to achieve objectives.  But where does the cost begin to outweigh the benefit?  Where is the sweet spot?

I was watching an Ovation channel program on photographers, including Jay Maisel, the fiercly bright, opinionated and prolific photographer who was talking about the reason he photographs: because he loves the beauty of the subject (I'm paraphrasing here).  He then went on to say that the resulting photograph is really just an after-effect of that love: "The product is the byproduct."

This week's NEW YORKER has this snippet worth sharing.  It's part of a 1964 transcript from the trial of one Josef Brodsky, a twenty-three-year-old poet arrested by the KGB and charged with "malicious parasitism."

JUDGE: And what is your profession?
BRODSKY: Poet. Poet and translator.
JUDGE: And who told you that you were a poet? Who assigned you that rank?
BRODSKY: No one.  (Non-confrontationally.) Who assigned me to the human race?
JUDGE: And did you study for this?
BRODSKY: For what?
JUDGE: To become a poet. Did you try to attend a school where they train [poets]…. where they teach….
BRODSKY: I don't think it comes from education.
JUDGE: From what, then?
BRODSKY: I think it's….(at a loss)…. from God.

According to some, and I don't disagree, my last post may have been a bit heavy.  Though I stand by the sentiment, there may be better ways of expressing it.

Visited St. Petersburg, FL recently and was encouraged by the renaissance of art, esp. in the 600 block of Central Avenue, where we acquired some works by the very talented and prolific Coralette Damme, aka the Crafty Hag. (http://www.craftyhag.com)

On her website we came across an unattributed quote that expresses in different terms, the sentiment expressed by William Carlos Williams, but with a bit more levity and joie de vivre:

"“Without art, we’re all just monkeys with car keys.”

Exactly.

"It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there."

William Carlos Williams

… and what is found there is the essence of any creative endeavor…

"… the most expensive thing in life is free time for creative expression.”

I was listening this morning to radio host Scott Simon interviewing Donald and Lillian Stokes, authors of the Stokes Field Guide to Birds celebrating it's 30th anniversary.

They were out with Simon in a park in urban Washington, D.C. and were seeing a number of birds common to anyone's backyard bird feeder, including black-capped chickadees.

Donald Stokes said people often ask : "After thirty years, don't you get tired of seeing the same birds over and over?"

"No, I never do," he replied, and went on to note that he always seemed to find something to admire about or learn from each sighting, even of a common bird.  "The challenge in life," he went on, "is not finding new places, but having new eyes."

When I see well-composed, sharp photographs, let's say in a travel magazine or at a camera club, I think of Ansel Adams' comments that he had: "…seen a lot of sharp photos and fuzzy concepts."  "Snapshot" is the term that comes to mind: an image that does no more or less than document what happened to be in front of a camera lens at the time.

I had a conversation at the gallery this past week with a couple who were admiring the images and commenting on the reality of each image capture – namely how easy it was to view the photos and forget that the photographer – me – was present at each scene – winter and summer, early and late – and got to experience the entire scene, not just a visual representation of it.

Though they are right about that, of course, I then suggested to them that, once the photograph is made, printed, displayed and acquired, it may take on iconic qualities that move the image beyond the "snapshot" Adams spoke of and transcend the reality of the experience.  To my way of thinking, that is actually what I am hoping for when I photograph.

After some time passes and an image has been on display or available at the gallery, it seems to me the qualities that make some images appear more evocative than others have little to do with the actual scene itself, or even the photographer.  They become a presence in their own right – just as real as the "reality" from which they were plucked.