I’m a morning person, with most days finding me awake before dawn. The early morning hours are precious to me, when my mind is most uncluttered and I feel a receptivity that unfortunately can become a bit muddled as events of the real world vie for my attention. And the quiet! I won’t even put on my beloved music until the sounds of the rest of the world waking begin to invade my space. I love the morning.
I find my work flows so much easier at this time of day, where it seems I can accomplish more with less effort than the afternoon and evening combined. So if I don't have a shoot scheduled or something else going on, there’s a good chance I’ll be here in this room editing photos. These closet doors are to the right of my chair, and just behind me. Not in my line of vision unless I turn to notice. But on good days I’ll turn to notice. For a short time the light filtering through a nearby window will flicker across the doors, creating a subtle yet spectacular performance. I’ll be mesmerized for as long as the display lasts, because it’s always fresh and new, but more remarkable for the fact that in these moments it’s always enough. Shadows of tree tops waltzing through slatted blinds projected onto ordinary closet doors is enough to fill the room and me with an exquisite experience of God. So often I’m searching for “special” experiences, when the truth is anything that is fully and openly experienced is the gift life continually offers us.
So after years of relishing the morning shows on my closet doors, I finally took the time to make a photograph. Kind of interesting to note that on the rare occasion I’m compelled to photograph something other than a portrait, it will invariably be a scene that is in reality already shades of gray. Huh.