on walking around today with my camera:
I left the house and walked in a less familiar direction. Hanging a right, and then a left, rather than a right and then straight. I have a camera. There is a pandemic right now and this is what passes for creative. I’m walking around with a camera. The camera is what allows me to tell myself “This is creative. This is different from walking.”
I notice things when I walk. I’m looking, I’m seeing, and I’m walking. When I have a camera, I try to take a picture, here and there. I walk, I notice, I take a picture, I continue walking. What am I looking for? I’m looking for some time when I can say to myself without guile, “You were creative.” I’m practicing. It doesn’t matter what I see, who I see. The pictures don’t matter. I’m out of my house, I’m walking, I’m looking around.
When I get home, I may not feel good, but I will feel less bad. I’ve spent some of my day creatively, walking around, trying to find something. I’m trying to be surprised, to crack a smile, to connect some dots. I’m just trying.
I notice a poorly executed facade. A fake foam large block stone facia. They are too large and out of proportion — with everything: the house, the window, the door, the neighborhood. The blocks are roughly thirty inches wide and sixteen inches tall. Grey stucco with beveled faux seams. Drips and watermarks trace the vertical lines. A filthy scandanavian grey. A putty grey-green caulking around the window, less gritty, but still unclean. White wooden trim around the cheap (also white) plastic window. This window is ajar at the bottom one and one quarter inch. The gap is stuffed with fabric. A pillowcase. (Wet and white.) The window slathered with a translucent frosty icing. A layered, smoky, exhaust-dusted scrim. It’s dirty.
The lower third of the window has a rusted “save your baby” aluminum structure, screwed to the inside of the white wooden window frame. The clever old-school design can shrink or expand to fit in many different windows. The three horizontal rods to right and the three horizontal rods to the left slide through holes in the two vertical L shaped aluminum extrusions. It keeps your baby inside the house. The aluminum is the original vague beige color, a deep flakey rust, and all the variants between.
The rust is beautiful. Next to the white of the window. Next to the grey of the facia. A palette. It accumulates. I like this house. It understands. The house is at ease with the passing of time, the slow drip, the exhaust from the BQE, the cracks and folds that hold certain grime, while allowing other dirt to ease down it’s face. It’s comfortable where it is.
I took a picture and kept walking.
