What shows
how little
we know?
What can be is
oft far less than
what we expect.
What is now
has never been
what it was.
07/25/2024 j.g.l.
value beyond
Simplicity.
Is there emotion in austerity?
Humanity?
What do you see when attempting
to define your limited visibility?
Minimalism, abstract impressionism
or incorporeal thought.
Less is more, but is it enough?
Texture, tone, and value beyond
your current scene. If you take it to an
extreme, you will question
what it means.
What is really there?
What line do you cross?
Can simplicity be complicated, or
should it even be attempted?
07/23/2024 j.g.l.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Things will not go as planned. Intentions will be disrupted, even overlooked, in the aftermath of an unexpected reality.
Where you are headed will not be the place you end up, undoubtedly or undeniably. No matter how hard you attempt to make each gesture, brushstroke, promise, prayer, or pastime as perfect as you believe it can be, many times you will not arrive at a perceived destination. All too often your endeavors never hit the mark; at times your work may be better than expected (celebrate those moments), but everything (even your judgement) is subjective.
You are not limited to, or by, the colours in your paintbox or progression of your process.
Imagination is as limited or expansive as you want it to be. Give it time to blossom; in certain instances, you may even have to reel it in. This is all about possibilities, no matter which media, method, or style you are beholden to.
You owe your art (or life) nothing but your presence; the value comes from the practice, as rudimentary or spontaneous as it is or will become.
07/22/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
Mondays are just young Fridays
Posted on June 27, 2016 by j.g.lewis
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His photography was not high art, but what he captured on film most definitely was.
For almost 40 years Bill Cunningham travelled about New York City, chronicling people in their element. He recorded not just life as it happened, but what it was about.
The photographer saw what people wanted people to see about themselves, respecting the individual and the need for self-expression. A distinct eye for detail, the man saw fashion trends before, or as, they were happening. His life was all about style.
Cunningham passed away over the weekend, at age 87.
He didn’t use the fanciest equipment, and what he produced couldn’t be heralded for composition or technical prowess, but his images went straight to his passion. Cunningham was on a quest for beauty.
He made fashion what it was, his columns and photo essays in the New York Times recognizing or almost predicting advances in style. Accepted by designers, magazine editors, fashionistas and dandies, Cunningham remained true to his trade and (like most photojournalists) wished to remain an outsider so he could look in and observe.
Bill Cunningham devoted his life to photography, earned a living with his camera, and he did so with purpose and passion. He recognized art, and lived art . . . shouldn’t we all be so fortunate?
