On and Over the Hills

"Go as far as you can see; when you get there you'll be able to see farther." ~ Thomas Carlyle

The Technical and Symbolic Elements of a Failure

I bombed the other day. I posted this picture to Flickr and one of the few of my wonderful contacts who commented was delightfully blunt enough to actually ask, “What Am I Looking At?”.

It started with a spontaneous picture I took from the inside of my garden shed. When I first saw the RAW image I knew what I wanted: I liked the darkness within and the brilliant light coming through the crack between the doors. I liked curve of the chains standing out from the barely perceptible grain of the plywood. Right away for me it symbolized a yearning; a looking out, beyond, to the future.

Later, while browsing free textures in Flickr, I was attracted to the competition texture created by a favourite texture artist (Skeletal Mess/Jerry Jones) in the Ghostworks group. I knew I wanted to try it with the door image. I opened them as layers in Gimp , playing with layer modes until it had a suitably mysterious tonal quality. Then decided I wanted more actual texture to it – an ephemeral barrier that provides even more resistance to the attempt to get through these doors than the loose chains themselves; something curtain-like, but earthier. I went back to Jerry’s textures and immediately grabbed this great image of burlap. Perfect, I thought: natural, even crude, scraps of life getting in the way. I layered it with the rest.

Then in my mind, I saw a figure within, on the right and I scanned through the images of my friend who has often consented to allow me to photograph her for my work. I chose one where one of her wonderful red gloves lay flat on the ground. I felt that it would translate nicely to her feeling her way along the door to the opening. I masked the ground around her, her other hand and some of her hair and desaturated the layer a little. Overlaying this image on top of the door, but below the textures gave the feeling that she was deeply enmeshed, entangled in, or even a part of the door. I could have cloned out the right hand crack in the door, but I felt it added good tension, sharply connecting her hand and face.

I didn’t give a lot of thought to the technical details; I trust somewhat in my feel for composition and now see that the main elements fall within thirds on the plane of the image. It’s obviously very high contrast, with very dark mid-tones, which I felt accentuated the contrast between the here/now and the ‘there’ or future. The tones are subdued, earthy and warm, which also works for me on a symbolic level: ‘inside’ being comfortable and familiar, making the struggle to emerge even more difficult.

Flickr is a fabulous community of artists and my contacts are kind and helpful. If I ask for honest opinions, I can usually get a few, but they speak volumes sometimes by their lack of response, which is honest and good feedback for me with its silence. Although I often post text to guide an emotive response to my images, like this recent one, in this case I was certain that I did not want to lead any potential reaction with either title or description. I wanted the image to speak for itself or crash on its own, which it did. Loudly.

Why did it crash? I still don’t know because the image still works for me, which is unusual. Of course it hurts, I always hope that I can speak to someone else’s heart with my pictures and when that fails on an image that made my heart speed up as I worked on it; on one where I truly managed to get into the zone of creating, it’s deeply disappointing.

I remember a picture I painted in high school. I spent all my spare time painting in the art room, and so did another girl. We did not really know each other, each of us being completely absorbed in our respective paintings while there; however we appreciated one another’s art. At least, I admired hers and from the little she ever spoke, I felt she thought well of mine. I was working from a photograph on a large canvas and suddenly was inspired to incorporate what I naively felt I understood about this other girl’s perception of herself in society. I tried to make a connection, to show I understood her. I was inspired. I worked feverishly hoping she would understand what I was saying. It was meant to be a hug. Instead it insulted and hurt her and destroyed what little chance we might ever have had of making a connection – to the point where she pointedly avoided me when we briefly crossed paths a few years later.

Through many, many years and many moves, I have kept this canvas – ostensibly to reuse, but somehow, I have never been able to bring myself to do that. It sits in a dark storage room as a reminder to me to not ever assume I understand what goes on inside someone else’s heart.

It also was a poignant experience of failure and my first sense of what it means to put oneself ‘out there’, with expectations and hope of making a connection. There have been other such experiences and I’m better able to cope with that personal feeling of rejection and am now more curious about where my assumptions failed.

Is it technical – poorly rendered? Is the image just completely unappealing in an aesthetic sense? Or is it indecipherable, as the talented Grizzled Old Dog (Mark Harden) helpfully implied?

So here I am: putting myself ‘out there’ once again. I am asking for your honest critiques, impressions and opinions. Please satisfy my curiousity and help me learn.

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31 comments on “The Technical and Symbolic Elements of a Failure

  1. Carla
    November 10, 2010

    Hi there Cindy – so I’m finally reading your blog – congrats – I’ll continue to do so. And I burst out laughing (sorry !) when I began reading this entry – I too looked at your image and was puzzled … do you know it’s only now I’m seeing you in the photo. And I think that’s what’s throwing me – and I’m not quite sure why. So no epiphanies here – but I always love your process and how you draw people in and through it. So, if it’s not my favorite photo, I guess that’s what I truly like about this image – the part of the process that is you.

    • missusk76
      November 10, 2010

      Hi Carla, it’s great to see you here and to see your wonderful website! I’ve said before how I aspire to create art as you do – always evocative, always beautiful. I really appreciate what you say – the figure (not me BTW) is too subtle, I guess, too enmeshed – it didn’t occur to me that she was not immediately visible. How does one learn to see an image through someone else’s eyes?

  2. NL Schober
    November 11, 2010

    Flickr is fickle. The images that you pour your heart into can be met with resounding silence and the ones you’re ambivalent about may be met with accolades. There’s a lot of ‘love’ on Flickr but constructive criticism is incredibly difficult to convey diplomatically.

    Ways to see through other people’s eyes-
    don’t look at your finished image for 24-48 hours to allow your eyes to ‘reset’
    ‘flip’ or mirror the image in the computer – this will confuse your brain that has gotten used to the image and ‘knows’ what is there
    find someone you trust and ask them (I get this in private messages and I always reply in private messages)

    Okay. This image. Your golden contrasty pictures works as far as composition on an abstract level. My first impression was that it might be chains hanging off the front of someone’s jeans. Which of course would be cool but you’ve been taking landscapes so maybe I got it wrong. Which I did. In a big way. 🙂

    You’re happy with the image. You have to stay with that. Don’t let Flickr’s indifference influence you – that will make you crazy.

    • missusk76
      November 11, 2010

      “Chains hanging off the front of someone’s jeans”!!! LOL – that tells me Exactly what I wanted to know! Clarity was a huge problem here. Thank you so much for your tips – I try to wait the day or two, but don’t always succeed (I have a problem with impulsiveness 🙂 ), but flipping the image is not something I’ve tried and sounds like some great advice, as is ‘asking a friend’. I may just hit you up for that sometime, if you don’t mind. Thank you so much for your comment and support, Nancy. I really appreciate it.

      Had a peek at your gorgeous website too and will be looking deeper!

  3. Carla
    November 11, 2010

    I think – the beauty is that we see through our own eyes – and then share. And then who knows who we will connect with – I’ve connected with much of your work – and you are an artist !! And create such beauties – (my flickr fave area is filled with them 🙂

  4. Mark Harden
    November 11, 2010

    Cindy, we go way back to the beginning of my Flickr days when we both were in a group that preferred honest and helpful critiques of our works rather than stamps, stickers, and “attaboys”. There we bonded through trust and, I believe a mutual fondness for our differences and similarities, and have remained friends. I often live vicariously through your beautiful and bucolic photographs as I suspect you might through my zany, Hollywooden, globetrotting existence.
    I’m certainly no philosopher and pretty sure I’m echoing somebody else’s wisdom when I say art, like wine, women, and song, is in the eyes, ears, and mouth (perhaps not in that order) of the beholder.
    Work is what you do for others, and art is what you do for yourself. I love that you love this piece even if others don’t really get it.
    I saw the “things” in your composition; the hair, the springs, the chain, the slash of light, even the burlap. I saw the effort you put in so I assumed you were trying to express something. I saw the courage you mustered to publicly post something outside your usual.
    What I didn’t see was the story, the theme, the glimpse of you you might have hoped to expose. I didn’t see the metaphorical nail I was hoping to hang the whole thing on. I truly thought I’d missed it though because my mind is more literal than lyrical. But through your blog here, you explain that this was more an adventure in textures and elements – a bit of a treasure hunt – and that is very cool.
    Love the blog by the way. Thanks for the heads up.

    • missusk76
      November 11, 2010

      Thank you , Mark. I definitely miss the vicarious “zany, Hollywooden,” (love that word), “globetrotting” excitement when you’re on hiatus; I’m pleased to hear that you get a little quiet from my work. I’ve figured out now that clarity was a big problem here and you’ve made it even more understandable for me when you say that it was the ‘story/theme’ that didn’t come through. The story was really what it was all about and just as in writing, if you leave out enough detail nobody is going to know what you’re talking about.

      • Mark Harden
        November 11, 2010

        Cindy,
        You know I’m no expert; just one pair of eyes that are failing more with each passing day. I’m kind of glad my little comment launched this thread. It’s very interesting. I work with big name celebrities every day, and I see the artistic consequences of “artists” who are surrounded by yes-men. These folks are more insecure than the average person because they never know if they are getting honest criticism or sycophantic hype. I vow to always be honest with you in your artistic journey.

  5. Ray van der Woning
    November 11, 2010

    (Comment cross-posted on Flickr)

    So, yeah I didn’t see what your subject was in the previous image hence, as you point out in your blog post, I remained silent.

    I’ve got a good many images on my Flickr account that I think are worthy of at least a comment, but which have none, and which I secretly know are pretty ordinary interpretations of the subject matter. All I can do is leave them be and move on, though I do re-edit one every now and then.

    Also, you had a single blunt comment (from an esteemed contact, yes?) and that qualified as a bomb, and I know exactly how that feels. I have a couple of esteemed contacts–friends even–that either fail to comment or take a critical view of something I’m quite excited about, and it blows.

    But, in turn, I have many more who tell me it’s, in Flickr parlance, “awesome”, “stunning”, or “great capture”. Guess which comments I believe.

    Flickr is like being in a camera club without having to be in a camera club. Thus, there is always a member who’ll roll out the “rule of thirds” or make crop suggestions which are made with the best intentions but made without awareness that you have thought carefully about those things and made decisions to make the image in a specific way because you’re on some personal journey to break out of a rut or try a different way of “seeing”.

    As KTDEE says, there’s no accounting for taste. Sometimes the photographer has a limited palette, sometimes it’s the viewer.

    • missusk76
      November 11, 2010

      Hi Ray. Thank you for your thoughtful comment and for ‘remaining silent’ on the image. It was those silences, combined with the carefully worded compliments that were posted that qualified the photo as a bomb. I know most of my contacts well enough now to read between the lines of what they say, or don’t say.

      Mark’s comment simply helped me to understand why it wasn’t working. He couldn’t see the subject (the story), just as you said. Mostly I’m pretty good about moving on when something doesn’t work, but I was really curious about this one.

      I totally agree that I would much rather have honesty/honest silence than bullshit ‘stunning’s. That’s why I rarely post to groups any more. I would rather hear from 5 contacts than have 50 copy/paste awards.

      I’ve also discovered that I’m able to disagree with critiques occasionally and still very much appreciate them. I haven’t been at this very long, and have a lot still to learn. If I find myself disagreeing, I’ve still learned something even if it’s just that I have a solid opinion!

      I’m glad I’ve asked for this feedback, because I really do feel that I understand why it didn’t work (the story didn’t come across) and have also received some great advice in the process. I’ve also discovered some pretty cool websites that I didn’t before know existed – like yours, which I’ll be checking out more closely.

    • Mark Harden
      November 11, 2010

      Taste is taste my friend, and I don’t think it needs be accounted for; not the photographer’s nor the viewers. Art is like boogers. We throw it against the wall and see if it sticks. It don’t all stick.

  6. Bob Zeller
    November 11, 2010

    Hi Cindy,

    I really don’t know what to add to the above comments. I myself looked at the photo and I could see that, you were looking at the textures, patterns, etc. But, you know, I think I liked that original raw file. Just the blackness with the sunrays and reflection of the silver chains. But everyone sees things different. And if I may be blunt, some people just don’t know what the heck they’re talking about.

    Case in point. A few years ago I was putting images on this website where people offered their critiques, etc. I had taken a photo of an beat-up windmill sitting on an open plain, with a blank dull sky. It reminded me of the old dust-bowl days of the 1930s on the great plains. I purposely left it grainy. Some of those supposedly “critics” commented that my image was too grainy, and offered me several solutions to get rid of it, the grain.

    Heck, I’ve seen what some of the abstract painters come up with, and I say, what the heck is that. But I know that the artist, knows what he or she is striving for, even though I may not like it. It is just that I don’t understand what they see. But they are painting what they feel at the moment.

    So you must do what Cindy feels is right, not what you think other people will want. You, from what I’ve seen up til now, are creative and imaginative, and you haven’t dissappointed me. But, you may say that I don’t know what I’m talking about. 🙂

    • missusk76
      November 11, 2010

      You know, thinking about it, I’m not expecting people to necessarily ‘like’ my pictures asthetically, (although that’s certainly nice). Sometimes it’s more like a graffiti artist might have in mind…a reaction – any emotional response – is a success in a way. It’s when there’s none at all that you wonder. I suppose I should maybe be careful where I go with that. 🙂

      On the other hand, maybe I should have just worked with the original file as you’ve pointed out. It was what appealed to me in the first place. I’m just not used to relating to anything so inorganic, I guess.

      Thank you for your vote of confidence, Bob. It means a lot. And I totally believe that you do know what you’re talking about.

  7. Pony
    November 11, 2010

    Remember that big red asymmetrical H painting that sold for $2.6 million a few years ago…..there you go.

  8. Sharon
    November 11, 2010

    Wow, Cindy, you have got some eloquent contacts — I read through each comment and loved what was said. Here’s my contribution, not nearly so eloquent. First of all, I haven’t been on Flickr for awhile, so I didn’t see this image til tonight. That’s one tally for silence. Having read through your blog now, I am swept away by what meant what to you … simply wonderful and I can see it in your image now. I didn’t understand the image on Flickr. What confused me at first was the chains — they are very prominent, so I thought that was where a lot of the meaning lay … but I could not figure out what kind of chains they were, only that they were pulled apart. Did not realize that they had held together a door or that I was looking at an open door. Second, I did not see the girl, which may be Flickr or the resolution on my computer — I see it in your blog photo though. I am so glad you blogged about it. Now it is one of those photos that will stay in my memory and develop evolving meaning for me. This reminds me of buying an album of music; I listen to a new album over and over and over again, eventually I tire of the easy songs I was so addicted to in the beginning and usually end up loving the song(s) I liked the least early on — and it is usually because they are more complex. Easy images can be forgettable. But not this one.

    You surely do have a sensitive heart. I can so relate to your passion for wanting to convey understanding and connection to the girl in your childhood. It sounds like she could not receive it. I love knowing there is a sensitive soul in my world.

    • missusk76
      November 17, 2010

      I do have eloquent contacts, don’t I? And, my dear, you certainly fit right in with your thoughtful comment. I love the comparison of art to music – both being soul food for me; writing, as well could be in the mix. There are many literary works that I’ve ‘grown into’ over time. As to my inborn sensitivity – I’ve learned to modulate it somewhat – as a child I suffered for everyone, which is a very painful way to exist. I try to use it more constructively now and preserve myself at the same time, not that it always works.

  9. NL Schober
    November 12, 2010

    “art is like boogers”…I am sooo ripping that off 😀

    Thanks for the compliment on my website. I kinda feel like it’s a house of cards that could collapse at any moment. I’m no good at letting my work ‘sit’ for a time either – I’m far to impatient to share 😀

    • missusk76
      November 17, 2010

      I think if Mark’s ‘boogers’ line isn’t already famous it should be. 🙂
      And you’re welcome! You’ve built a lovely site – I’m just proud that I’ve figured out how to ‘blog’!

  10. julianhoffman
    November 12, 2010

    Cindy, you’ve raised some interesting and valuable issues with this post. Right off I’ll say that it’s not one of my favourite images of yours. But that’s neither here nor there. Your work speaks to me in ways that deepen my relationship to a shifting, light-filled world; they force me to question, evaluate and pause. That is what the art that touches me needs to do. But just as easily, your posted image might speak to someone who feels little for some of your other images. You’re producing a body of work, stemming from the same unique source. Finding common ground across the spectrum isn’t always possible, or even necessary.

    Some of my favourite writers, let say Barry Lopez or Rick Bass (two people whom I’ve be re-reading recently) engage me with their nuanced and powerful perspectives on the connections between the natural and cultural world. But there are times amidst a collection of short stories, for example, when I’ve reached the end of a particular piece and wondered: Now how did that ever make its way in? Try as I might, there are stories of theirs that don’t work for me. I’ll look for another way in, but often don’t find that opening either. The way an artist sees isn’t dependent upon an audience’s acceptance. Those stories that don’t work for me are still crafted with the same urgent intent to make something of the world, to forge a piece of writing out of a relationship that remains, no matter how many critique groups exist, secret and unknowable. As such, it can’t possibly speak to us all.

    The other thing of interest in this post is the idea of comments and critique. In recent years, with the development of technology, it is far easier to be a part of artists’ groups, to share work and receive feedback on it. I don’t dismiss these groups; they can be invaluable at times. But I wonder if we haven’t moved a little too far, whereby we expect comment and consideration. I don’t pretend to be beyond this myself. But the process, I believe, must ultimately be its own validation. The number of stories or essays that I’ve had consistently turned down, only to suddenly find an editor immediately excited by them, tells me much about the diversity of response to my writing. But what it tells me about the writing itself is much harder to gauge. Once I began reading contradictory comments regarding the same piece, I became aware how imperative it was to stay true to the vision that compelled me. That didn’t mean disregarding comments critical or postive about the work, it simply meant that they concerned the changeable surface and not the underlying processes.

    What meaning should we take from the suggestive silence that you talk about? I may be the one showing romantic tendencies here, but what of that pre-digital age when silence was the sole expectation. At most, images or a short story might be shared with a few close friends, but rarely further afield. Silence is part of the pact, or so I believe; like meditation, it enables us to go deeper into that miraculous place that, for the artist, articulates our frail and beautiful world. Silence is a space that’s free of distraction. Sometimes it’s from the silence that we learn. And on rare days, it might be the silence that allows a voice to be heard.

    Admiringly,
    Julian

    • missusk76
      November 17, 2010

      Who knew that a photography blog would re-open some doors to literature for me? Does art ever stand alone? As a children’s librarian, I’ve allowed my involvement with adult literature to slide somewhat and am currently immersed in The Emigrants, thanks to your article, which begins on page 5 here for others reading this. (I highly recommend it.) Anyway, now you suggest two other writers that I’ll have to check out. The “connections between the natural and cultural world” are what it’s all about; what life is all about; what art, for me, is all about. So you’re sending me off again and I truly appreciate it!

      I will, however, be aware that I don’t have to relate to every piece. As easy as it is for me to assume that it’s my own shortcomings that fail to communicate or to understand another’s work – art in any form – it’s good to be reminded that it is our diversity as humankind that is our true strength and that I can never hope to connect to all understandings.

      As to the need for feedback that you discuss so wisely, I must acknowledge my insecurities here, but also my fortune. I’ve learned so much through the generosity of the Flickr community over the past year since I got my camera. I’m still a rank amateur and, although I am beginning to develop my own sense of what works for me, I continue to crave feedback – positive and negative, if for no other reason that to help me cement in my own mind what ‘my’ art is. I can sense that you and others have your ‘vision’ clarified. Your writing is mature and polished and uniquely ‘you’ and I can see that many of those who work with the art of photography have an equally clear sense of their own vision. In spite of my chronological maturity, I’m not there yet. I feel I have so much to learn, and to try and to experiment with.

      Having said all that, however, your last paragraph has re-grounded me. Silence as mediation. I thrive on silence in the literal sense. I have to acknowledge that the digital world has facilitated a ‘joining’ for me that would never have happened in face-to-face interaction. It has opened doors of learning that I never would have thought possible, but perhaps it has also crept into a part of me that was hitherto unexplored and I might need to have a look at how I’ve allowed it to touch me.

      It’s taken forever for me to write this, because you’ve given me so much to think about. Just as I wished the image above had been ‘readable’, I also hope that I have expressed myself clearly here. Thank you, Julian.

      • julianhoffman
        November 22, 2010

        Hi Cindy – your reply is more than just readable; it’s an elegant expression of how you believe your vision is developing. I was thrilled to hear of your ‘fortune’ in having a community of photographers that you can share with. That’s not always an easy thing to find. And ultimately, whether we believe we’ve discovered our vision or not, we’re continually trying to refine or experiment with new ways of expressing. Without that process of continuing exploration I suppose the work would lack heart.

        I like the connections you speak of between different art froms, particularly photography and literature. I think it’s one of the things I find so compelling about Sebald’s work (and I would be very interested in knowing what you think of the book once you’re finished). So much filters in to the way we live and create that a single art can never really stand alone. Instead there are bridges between forms.

        I’m so pleased that the literature suggestions have been helpful. Barry Lopez is, in my opinion, one of the finer voices trying to understand the connections between the cultural and the natural. Arctic Dreams concentrates on the far north, detailing the creatures, cultures, light, myths and weather of that region in beautiful prose. About This Life is a wonderful collection of his essays written about various parts of the world and Winter Count is a slim collection of gem-like short stories. He’s written far more, but these are excellent places to start. Rick Bass lives in a very remote part of Montana and often writes of what it means to raise a family in such isolation, but with the gifts of knowing the landscapes and wild animals and flowers and intimacy of the wind instead. His nonfiction book, Winter, concerns many of these issues while his collection of short stories, The Lives of Rocks, contains a number of beautiful works. His most recent book, The Wild Marsh, looks very interesting, but at the moment it’s still sitting on a shelf here unread! Hope that’s of some help. Maybe we need an online reading community as well! Let me know if I can be of any more help.

        Finally, thanks for the link to my piece of writing. I’m deeply honoured that you shared it.

        Best wishes,
        Julian

  11. Carla
    November 17, 2010

    and how can this be considered a failure – isn’t art supposed to stimulate dialogue? Look at how this image has created a forum for so many interesting perspectives- I’d consider it a roaring success.

    • missusk76
      November 18, 2010

      You know – you’re right. To be terribly cliché, it’s all about ‘reaching out to touch somebody’, so in that sense it is a success! Thanks, Carla. 🙂

  12. jmsbunch
    November 18, 2010

    Cindy, I would agree with those that have already commentted about this image with regards to whether this is a bomb or not.

    I’m not sure how we would be able to identify a photographic failure outside of you the artists deciding that you did not capture the image you inteded. Based on your own commentary here though, I understand that to not be the case. Therefore you have to take lightly the opinions of others.

    That being said, the comments made towards our images can be helpful, but you must take into consideration their perspective. I have had the opportunity to observe several various art exhibits around the world, and I find that not everything in the exhibit intrests me. That doesn’t mean that it isn’t a good piece of art, just didn’t connect with me.

    The beauty of art is that it contains part of the artist in it. Again if you see this image as uniquely you then it is definitely something that you should be proud about.

    Someone could make comments regarding texture or lighting, or maybe even the depth as you have several layers, and if those comments are presented you must look at them through the eyes of your visions, not theirs. This is the realm of constructive critisms. It’s the idea of having your portfolio reviewed and the reviewer asking you the same question, “what am I looking at?” I had to learn how to receive that question, because it isn’t neccessarily that they don’t understand your shot, just don’t understand your vision.

    I wouldn’t get discouraged because someone made a comment on flickr. I think that you have a very good eye and that you are able to capture your vision. That is what this is all about. Keep up the good work!

    • missusk76
      November 18, 2010

      I suppose it’s just because I really want this (photography) to be the one thing in my life that I ‘finish’; that I become proficient at. As I admit in my ‘about
      page – I’ve always been a jack-of-all-trades, but never a master at anything – and I’m no spring chicken. 🙂

      I greedily suck up any advice (and have gained so much from every bit of it) and to me, it was the silence that spoke more than the one straighforward comment that I so very much appreciated. This image failed to ‘touch’ anyone else. But you’re right. It still feels right to me and I will be content to sit with it there.

      Thank you very much for stopping in, James, and for your support. I really appreciate it.

  13. Cait
    November 20, 2010

    This photo spoke to me of healing in some way, as I thought it looked like the woman was planting a seed, and the light coming through the doorway suggested a new beginning. It is hard to put things that really matter to you out there, but wow, it sure got people thinking and talking!

  14. missusk76
    November 21, 2010

    Oh, I like the seed-planting interpretation – healing, indeed. I’m glad it spoke to you at all, Cait and I love how you’ve expressed it.

    I have very much appreciated the conversation here and I’ve learned a lot from this exchange. I am aim to continue with less concern for outside reaction and a deeper and less self-conscious inward exploration…so easy to say. 🙂

    Thanks so much for stopping by.

  15. pixilated2
    November 25, 2010

    Am I so blind? I came here the first time and read, then looked back at the photograph and did not see. I came back today and the woman in the photograph fairly jumped out at me. Perhaps my mind was clouded the first time I looked.

    I too am baffled when I pour my heart into my writing and no one responds. I wonder, was my intent for the reader unclear? Did I not get my message across? Then I realize I write to process my life and maybe no one else needs to ‘get it’ because it’s for me.

    But then, when someone does connect it is a heady feeling…
    Is it not?

    • missusk76
      November 28, 2010

      I think if I reworked the image I would make the figure more prominent. But I rarely go back into a picture. Once it’s done, it’s over for me. As much as I crave that ‘heady feeling’ you mentioned, this discussion has really helped me to concentrate on creating for myself, allow myself to feel satisfaction in the creation alone and not be disappointed with the lack of connection. This thread has been very good for me. Thank you very much for bringing your perspective to it, Lynda. I appreciate it very much.

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