Rhyme and time

In between pressing, seemingly never-ending, project deadlines today, in the background, faintly but clearly, I could feel and hear the unmistakable pull and call of photography. “Come to me”, she whispers.

She pounds and wallops my senses.

Her, oh so, familiar and intimate voice, like a wanting lover in the night, was creatively asking for attention, attentiveness, presentness from me.

I didn’t dare leave my desk, for fear that, even a momentary distraction, would turn into a session of prolonged afternoon delight.

But I did, by a sheer force of will, manage to put down my work and stare, yes, glare and gaze, momentarily, into the joyful abyss of photography captured-my camera roll.

Good gadhhh. My photographs. My babies. My prized possessions. My pride and joy. My markers and milestones.

They are beautiful. They excite and inspire me, always, no matter what mood I’m in.

They send me to a place that only artists know and call by name.

How is it possible, that random bits and bytes, computer code, could rearrange my senses and turn my heart inside out, in a matter of seconds?

This is a poet’s life. And the call of pictorial rhyme and time.

Oh, wonder of wonders. Magic of magic. The capture of captures.

Life without art is life without a heart.



Jack Hollingsworth