Shadows are in a very real sense prints, if fleeting. I suppose that’s why many photographers respond to them. That I hauled a view camera up on the garage roof on the hottest day of the year to take pictures of a busted weathervane’s random castings is testament to that. Or to my stupidity. I’ve always preferred viewing prints to making them, so most of my photographic acts aren’t totally unrelated to that. The capture being only a interim, or adjunct, profanity. These aren’t great photographs by any means, but at the time they were excellent prints.
I like sick days. It gives me freedom to do goofy phototard tasks like testing a new lens’s oofda* or micro-arranging interior blandscapes while the self-meddling dickhead artiste within is indisposed. Ironically, feeling like crap can sometimes provide needed relief from feeling like an ass.
(*out-of-focus/defocused area. Phototard or not, I’ve really grown to hate the term ‘bokeh’)