The color and the light of the world with a blanket of two day old snow is unparalleled. The muffled sounds of icicles forming, tires crunching over snow, the soft thud as snow slips from the branches of trees, my footfalls on asphalt echoing back to me. I meandered aimlessly through slushy streets of Phoenixville, clicking and thinking away.
My thoughts from Sunday don’t come back to me now, as I try to conjure them up to talk about making these images. I, apparently, became incredibly fixated on flattening space and reducing mundane places to lines, color, texture. The back streets and alleyways of town offered up to me a place to ponder and to let my brain think about my environment, my surroundings, to slip into image making mode. It had been a while, since mid-December at least, since I had a chance to just look around for a while and not force myself to filter out any part of my environment. To just be there, to look was enough.
The last few months I’ve been spending a lot of time in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania. It is an old town, built along the sloping banks of the Schuylkill River. It is an hour from where I live, along the lanes of route 100 and 422. I pass through vast, glimmering farm land and wide expansions of strip malls. The narrow streets and row homes tell me it once swelled with a strong industry, providing a good life to working people. Now it is a smattering of the young moving in and the old staying put.
I head south on the weekends, as the love and admiration of a boy that I love and admire in return beckons me. The time we spend together is a welcome change to my plodding day-to-day life, as it is time we spend together. He has become entangled in my life and makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I do not have to resign myself to being stubbornly independent of others, that life with someone else looks pretty good after all.