I took a walk through a familiar place yesterday. It was hot and the afternoon light made dappled patterns on the path. I had my copy of the Smena 8m loaded with some Kodak XX film. Turns out that the Smena has a shutter cocking lever on the outside of the lens barrel, and that lever can bump up against fat sausage-like fingers after the shutter release button is pressed. This slows down the shutter closing and introduces a lot of motion blur to your photograph. I was a little disappointed. Later, though, I saw an obituary in the NYT. The sculptor Richard Nonas has died. The Times published part of one of his poems and it made me feel better:
I start with memories of how places feel.
The ache of that desert, those woods, that room opening out.
Places I’ve been, places I’ve seen and felt.
And felt always with some component of unease,
apprehension, disquiet, fear even, discomfort certainly.
Memories of places that seem always slightly confusing, slightly ambiguous.
Places that tantalize, tantalize by their approach to — and lack of — clarity.
Places I’ve been, places I’ve seen and felt.
And felt always with some component of unease,
apprehension, disquiet, fear even, discomfort certainly.
Memories of places that seem always slightly confusing, slightly ambiguous.
Places that tantalize, tantalize by their approach to — and lack of — clarity.
