A Sea of Voices From the Past
You’ve probably never heard of him. Unless you’re a serious photographer.
Instead, I found myself alone. Wandering three galleries of otherworldly photographs. Unlike anything. Unique.
Would it be weird to admit some of the images called to me?
I stood before a rock.
And saw a person.
Colors merged to form nebulae. Constellations. Even planets.
The landscape of Bullock’s face was preserved in Vaseline. I gazed into his open eye.
And witnessed the hereafter.
Wynn Bullock died in 1975. His photographs are memory, a recording of how he saw the world.
I wish I could see the world as he did.
Because I couldn’t take pictures of his work, I captured a quote.
What’s right in front of you, waiting to be perceived? What could you see in the world, if only you looked? How would that perspective revolutionize your life, if you chose to focus on it?
I stumbled out in tears. Because I don’t see. Because I waste time. Because I fail to glorify the things that matter and relegate what should be remembered to obscurity.
Wynn Bullock wanted to be remembered. Otherwise, he would’ve destroyed his photographs.
Meriwether Lewis wanted to be remembered. Otherwise, he would’ve burned his journals.
I want to be remembered.
For my words.
Is that vanity?
Call it what you will.
Who will someday die.
And be forgotten.
This post is part of a series. To read the first post, click here: Desperately Seeking a Shepherd; to read the second post, click here: College Football? What a Waste of Time!; to read the third post, click here: Promiscuous Read: The Plover by Brian Doyle; to read the fourth post, click here: Sex With Cars.