This month’s favorite photo is of…the humble pumpkin.
It was not even one of the best pumpkins in the patch, as I found it in a pile of discarded, rotten pumpkins, in the middle of a grove of apple trees - far away from the bucolic pumpkin patch - abandoned to the elements and its inevitable decay.
So what made me want to photograph this pumpkin when I could have captured so many other more photogenic pumpkins?
The answer is poetry.
I love the shape of this pumpkin and the way the ambient light shines on it, highlighting the texture and speckles of dirt and dust on its skin.
I love the way it towered defiantly over the remains of other pumpkins who were succumbing to the elements and crawling with bugs, who were no doubt feasting on the discarded gourds.
I love the lacy loop of dried vine over the top of the pumpkin adding a certain elegance and dignity to its existence.
People have asked me why I don’t photograph more wide-open, Ansel Adams-type landscapes. Well, first, I don’t think I am very good at it, and mainly, I don’t feel a pull to capture them. What I am compelled to photograph are the hidden, quiet scenes, that are so often overlooked or passed over in favor of the loud and grandiose. When I see one, it’s like uncovering a buried treasure, and the joy it brings me is immense, like I’ve just discovered a secret that God has been holding onto, in the humble things, and now I get to share it with the world.
One of the highest compliments I have been paid is that my photographs are poetic.
I do try.
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