It is 10:27 at night. I can hear Martha, our dog, snoring on the other side of the bedroom door. I am sitting at my grey formica 1950’s table typing on my Dell Inspiron laptop. I crave writing like I use to crave New York Cheesecake with a side of raspberry sauce. I don’t know what I will write about tonight. When I think of an idea to write about, sitting beside the idea in my brain is an idea for an image to go with the story. Is the image the real story? Are the words illustrating the photograph? Are the words necessary?
When I lived in Japan and worked for the Tokyo Journal as a photographer in 1985, my photographs illustrated the articles. Did the stories need a photograph? Were the photographs used to sell the magazine, or to help tell a story? As I write this I can imagine myself looking through boxes of photographs and magazine clippings of my work from Japan in the basement of our two-story cream house with purple shutters, searching for images to photograph for the story I am writing tonight. The desire to show with a photograph and not just words is overwhelming. I want to show you some of my published photographs. I feel like a kindergarten student at show and tell. If I show you then it is real.
Tonight I will write about not taking a photograph. I will write about not running down the stairs to the basement. I will write about falling asleep listening to Martha snore. The battery for my Canon PowerShot ELPH 100HS with 28mm wide-angle and 12.1 pixels is plugged into the battery charger. I am ready for tomorrow.
