I have a dozen blog posts lined up to reflect my many trips in the woods of the last week. It is the best season of all, and I have never been so keenly out on so many walks here along the rivers of Minnesota. Sometimes I am out by myself, taking pictures that I later spend whole days mending and stitching and carefully trying to make into something. Sometimes I am out with my darling wife, and I like those walks best, but I don't take pictures on those.
The real problem of course, as it always is with art, is that try as I might I can never really take a photograph as good, as magical, as evocative as the places I see.
All these places along the river are just so... holy.
No god, fuck god, no great spirit, no mighty Lord of the Universe, but there is something. Something something something, invisible but apparent. Wonderful, Beautiful. Unphotographable. Holy.
I will never get a picture of one of those places, though they are weirdly easy to find.
But there is something in me driven to keep trying.
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