David Quigg is a writer. David Quigg is a photographer. David Quigg lives in Seattle. David Quigg devours audiobooks. David Quigg is an armchair warrior and diplomat. David Quigg used to be a newspaper reporter. David Quigg resorts to satire. David Quigg is a dad.
These are their stories.
frozen raspberry thawing in our kitchen sink right now
Time to quote Rilke again:
If your everyday life seems to lack material, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to summon up its riches, for there is no lack for him who creates and no poor, trivial place.
A belatedly posted sight from my Saturday afternoon run with Lulu, our fast, young dog.
THE LIGHT INSIDE THIS MORNING
————————————-
Last night, I started Rilke’s Letters To A Young Poet and found words that rhyme with the spirit that’s guided my photography for the last seven years or so:
If your everyday life seems to lack material, do not blame it; blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to summon up its riches, for there is no lack for him who creates and no poor, trivial place.
In real life, imaginary friends drink for free.
sights from this afternoon’s dog walk
sights from this afternoon’s dog walk
David Dobbs just tweeted a link to “Resolved in 2012: To Enjoy the View Without Help From an iPhone.” In it, the NYT’s Nick Bilton writes:
… I climbed a large rocky hill as the sun descended on the horizon. It painted a typically astounding California sunset across the Pacific Ocean. What did I do next?
What any normal person would do in 2011: I pulled out my iPhone and began snapping pictures to share on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.
I spent 10 minutes trying to compose the perfect shot, moving my phone from side to side, adjusting light settings and picking the perfect filter.
Then, I stopped. Here I was, watching this magnificent sunset, and all I could do is peer at it through a tiny four-inch screen.
“What’s wrong with me?” I thought. “I can’t seem to enjoy anything without trying to digitally capture it or spew it onto the Internet.”
Bilton turned his horror into a new year’s resolution: “In 2012, I plan to spend at least 30 minutes a day without my iPhone.”
If you read the post I wrote after taking five weeks off from blogging, you’ll know why I think Bilton is making a great choice. But I want to offer a partial defense of peering at the world “through a tiny four-inch screen.”
As I fully realized when we got dogs and it stopped being practical to tote my Nikon everywhere, a camera is itself a way of exploring the world, of cropping out distractions, of isolating what is beautiful in the ordinary, of permitting us to share that beauty with others.
So here’s a proposal: Stop photographing sights that are inherently beautiful. As Bilton wrote, he saw that Pacific sunset and did what “any normal person would do in 2011.” In other words, anybody witnessing that sunset would gawk and bask. What’s more, no photo—no matter how expert—could do it justice. So it’s no wonder the experience felt hollow. Just as there’s value to Bilton spending 30 minutes per day without his iPhone, he might benefit from restricting his camera use to detecting and documenting the striking sights that “any normal person” would fail to notice.
That’s personal. That’s worth sharing. Even when it’s just the sock you wrecked during your run.
Earlier that same evening …
A few shots from NYE dinner at the consistently delicious La Medusa.
Happy 2012, East Coast! Seattle’s midnight should be here in a few hours.
sights from today’s dog walk
A few days ago, I wrote about the virtue of moving closer and closer to seek out the small things that make big messes intelligible. Artistically, though, I’m a sucker for getting closer and closer until something utterly ordinary becomes messily, unintelligibly striking.
Other (relatively intelligible) photographic closeness here.
