Brass Valley: The Fall of an American Industry

Brass Valley: The Fall of an American Industry
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Saturday, April 11, 2009

Pond Musk


MINOR WHITE: "Sequences originate for me from some hidden place. Though I habitually play photographs against each other, or words against images in pairs, triplets, or rows of four with expectations of magic, sequences originate from within. And I prefer to let them. In fact I cannot seriously do otherwise than photograph on impulse and let whatever words will, flow spontaneously."

PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL: What has been wiggling at Emerald Pool? Since my last visit the ice has completely melted, and here and there ragged, rubbery pads have been poking up through the surface and spreading out. Beneath the surface shoots and stalks stir the broth to cloudy life, while down in the murk tiny things scurry. Still no peepers here. We decorate nurseries with pretty flowers to flatter the eye and fill our yards with crocuses and daffodils, but throughout nature conception is a messy affair that begins in the dark mud. To find the start of spring I prefer to look for it there.

On Thursday morning I stood from 10AM to noon shooting things beneath the surface. Bright sun poked unevenly through the rim of trees occasionally spotlighting things deep in the water. I was in position when the right wind cleared the path for a beam to brush this bouquet, and I clicked the shutter before the same wind churned the water's surface.