Yesterday, I decided, ‘fuck it, I’m getting out of the house, and I’m going on a little journey.’ Like everyone else, I’ve been going a little stir crazy from the quarantine we’re all under. I figured that if I left the house when the sun came out, there’d be a lot fewer human creatures about, and if things went well, I’d have lots of the city to myself. I checked the weather, and it was looking good -sunny, high of 20. Great!
Naturally, fifteen minutes after I had gotten out the door, a carpet of bloody clouds rolled in…
So much for getting an early start to get the good morning light.
I fired off a couple of shots, but beyond the flat, boring light, something still wasn’t right. I didn’t seem to be ‘seeing’ anything -which is odd, because that sort of thing usually isn’t really a problem for me.
Then it dawned on me: I was outta shape. Because I’ve been cooped up in the house, I had gotten rusty. I wasn’t ‘seeing’ anything much, because my eye wasn’t used to looking. Strange, because I usually equate that sort of thing with athletic things, or things involving dexterity -but I knew deep inside somewhere that that had to be a big part of it, because it has happened to me before. In the past, I’ve tried to make a habit of getting out with my camera a lot before, say, going on a big trip, because I knew it would help when I had reached my destination.
I had just forgotten all about it though.
So I went back home (of course, as soon as I got in the door, the fucking sun came back out) and went back to trying to make an orange not look like an orange.