Jan. 12, 2005
Photography at its finest can capture the essence of a scene… Or tell a story of a lifetime of anguish… Portray the instance of purest joy… illuminate the colors of the simplest sight. We like to take pictures because it reminds us of where we were and the feelings that were felt. We like to show the art of the moment and hope that others can have a glance of what was really there, although things are never the same…
We love the pictures. We love the close our eyes and imprint the film into our heads. We love to color the world.
What of photography as Art. What of the lies that are hidden into each frame. The light turned to dark and the dark hidden by shadows of artificial fluorescence. Images captured to be made better than we can every describe. These lies are pasted into every album cover, every magazine ad, every wrinkle on a baby’s bottom… Are the pictures at an art gallery art because they are solely in the gallery? Are the admired because we see them as some pretentious way to feel more enlightened?
The photos don’t speak back when we talk to them…
But with every photograph I see, I love my lies. I like what I see. I like the way the truth hides behind every image because there is always truth... and in my mind, all I see is the fantastic…
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