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№ 75 Posts

In the belly of a tree

Beach 1, August 2009

This forest dazzles so it’s difficult to get around to the task of taking a picture of it. Almost comically grim,  the lean defoliated interior crowds its own shadows, the trees almost tripping over another in one-upmanship, and the path demarks the contortions as events that are gradual and sudden all at once.  Each distinct view naturally insists on its counterpart or sequence, and back again to itself, so you can get stuck in the loop of the path, stuporously touring the infinite detail well into the gloom.

Occupational therapy

Beach 3, August 2009

The crappier my job gets, the more textbook my escapist tendencies. This is a common enough theme in many people’s lives. Still, I never seem to tire of making excuses for taking pretty pictures. I can think of little else under a leaky trailer blowing insulation into it’s belly. Stitched up in a tyvek suit, with a full face respirator that makes your eyes bulge with each breath, you tend to long for the open spaces.

Oddly though I’m growing to like my job- it’s is darkly peaceful in the tight spaces, and you can move tones around in your mind’s eye, because there’s nothing much else to see, and I can think farther into patterns and trace (or even anticipate) a chaotic sky or tide one or two cycles deeper there, and as such the thoughts I get take stronger hold and make a lasting impression, and I know what I want to see when I climb out. This, as aging compounds and indecision and apologia take root, is decent enough maintenance, if not a outright cure.

Are you coming in or going out?

Beach 3, August 2009

I went back to Kalaloch for the first time in many months. Frustrated all summer on so many fronts, it was easier to take a step back to the same thing and just insist on different results- mainly, just to enjoy myself. Similarly, this interesting piece of sandstone is either emerging from the sand or receding by erosion, but really; with enough applied scale, the differences don’t exactly register.

And some nice correspondence with people nearby and far away helped put things in perspective as well- so thanks for that.

Variations on a theme

Bunker, July 2009

I’ve been neglecting Camp Hayden, a old coastal defense installation near the house, an alder-veiled network of subterrainian bunkers atop the worn basalt bluffs over Crescent Bay and Tongue Point. Most mornings are foggy and the Strait is obscured by a thick carpet of fog, so I’m not sure how much practical appliaction the fort had in its day, but it is a fun place to haunt as the sun starts to light up the fog. Much newer than Fort Worden, it nevertheless has eased into obscurity and earthly reclaimation much more vigourously. There is more of a post-people dynamic here, belied by the constant stream of RVs and popup trailers that  frequent the campgrounds below.

Ah, on a clear day you could shell Canada…

Taking old pictures

Stoddard Commons, June 2009

While setting up this shot a passing fellow asked if I was trying to reproduce the look of the installation when it was first built, seeing as I was using an ‘antique’ camera from roughly the same era. I hate to lecture the pedestrians, so I said yes, but I’d have to add the orignal paint back in photoshop. [/rimshot]

Angels in the architecture

Benson Complex, June 2009

Long day… After all the Rorschach paint blots I finally started seeing virgin marys in the efflorescence and calcium stains.

…pt 2

Benson Complex, June 2009

The painter I’ve been tracking seems to have taken to simply throwing cups of paint. I like the look- almost like some vintage ghost did a Wile E Coyote right smack into the steel door.

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Rialto, June 2009

But I think I’ll park it on this note- something about the tall and skinny is keyhole-esque- a bit brighter, and a bit more optimistic.

Rend

Rialto, June 2009

Went back out to Rialto, a leaden hostile feeling most of the day- not unlike the sky here. I’m feeling pretty restless and impatient with all my current projects. Could just be the summer blahs, but I need a fresh kick in the ass to kickstart some new growth. The things I used to look forward to are becoming mere routine, chin furrows in the dirt farm, so to speak. My eyes are so close I’m seeing the same lines everywhere. In any case, this project needs to be deepsixed until I get some fresh perspective, before I become a caricature of myself.

Paint swatches

grassring

hut

mortardoors

Mortar Complex, June 2009

We went back to Fort Worden yesterday, this time to the gun line proper on Artillery Hill. The first thing that jumps out is the random application of paint samples around the grounds- perhaps a minor municipal gesture against the overwhelming rust, or maybe it’s just official modesty over obscene grafitti. Nevertheles, the place is fascinating, a small stateside Angkor Wat slowly being reclaimed by nature and some guy with a paint roller.