Framed For Murder
August 8th, 2004 byIt’s strangely ironic to me, my choice of wood. Hemlock. It shares a name with the poisonous herb that killed Socrates. Tonight I hope the name can claim another victim. Because as I struggled to negotiate the workings of my new miter saw and router this evening I realized that ownership of my photography left my hands some time ago. Since I graduated from college, control of my photography was taken by my editors. And for some reason I accepted that as simply “the way it is in photojournalism”. More than that, I accepted it as the way it is with photography and art. That there was no freedom in art, especially when art has to pay the bills. Tonight I took one more step towards killing the idea that was so effectively undercutting my passion in this world. Because art, my art, no matter how under-developed it may be, is my language. It is my peace of mind. It is my solace, my escape and my tool. How I ever gave that up I do not know. And tonight I took it back. Shy of grinding my own glass from sand, my photography is mine again. I am shooting, editing, printing and framing my own work. Again. Well, as soon as I figure out how to get my new router to work properly it will be mine again. But I’m well on my way, and tonight I have few complaints.