Growing up along the Pacific coast of San Francisco, I spent many happy moments by the surf. These days, I live near the North Sea in Scotland and love the air and views.
Growing up seeing media images from magazines like LOOK, LIFE, Saturday Evening Post, and National Geographics, I developed a periodical clipping file as a dynamic visual language to communicate thoughts. Creating a visual concept takes a period of internalization but feel sense of chance and surprise choosing particular elements to express an idea. It evokes in me the wonderment of a child viewing a diverse social universe as I tell my stories... After leaving Oregon for Scotland, I wasn't doing much with #photocollage until the last couple of years. I used the medium to illustrate my music history blog scotbeat.wordpress.com but really got more into it in the last two years after reorganizing my magazine clippings [circa 1930s-early 1970s]. Now post retired, I created simple collages when the mood strikes or want to communicate an idea besides other little projects. Here are some I like from 2022-2024. Notes: I work with both colour and bxw images and this represents a few colour...
All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Spring will come never more. O, vanity! Death waits at the door. See! our friends are all forsaking The wine and the merrymaking. We are call’d–we must go. Laid low, very low, In the dark we must lie. The merry glees are still; The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard, Nor the wind on the hill. O, misery! Hark! death is calling While I speak to ye, The jaw is falling, The red cheek paling, The strong limbs failing; Ice with the warm blood mixing; The eyeballs fixing. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth...
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