|A bedouin on his camel. at the Great Pyramids of Egypt.|
In some profound ways, I have not adjusted to the ending of my year of travel, in 2008. Then, I was single, unencumbered by material things, free to move in any direction, was full of wanderlust, and leisurely moved across the face of the earth, living in exotic and fascinating places, making new friends and acquaintances. Since I arrived back in the USA, I have not felt the urge to own a home or settle down in any fundamental way, even though I have married. My lovely wife owns a home and I also rent a separate home, studio, and art gallery—but I am not attached to any of these places. Since 2008, I have been to Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, and lastly, with my wife, Morocco. Now, I wonder if my dancing vagabond days are over for me.
During the early days of my traveling, I carried two suitcases—one for clothing, laptop, camera and supplies, and one for my painting gear, i.e. paints and easel, canvas and brushes. I made paintings along the way, occasionally sending them back to my assistant in the US and my gallery. Midway through the journey, I sent the cumbersome painting suitcase home, since I had evolved into a passionate street photographer. Each day, camera in hand, I would saunter forth to find the unexpected and seek to capture ephemeral moments of sublimity.
|A field of poppies amid olive trees, in the Puglia region of Italy|
The task of landscape painting is different than photography. To paint, a subject must be found, and then the easel set up and as the day goes by and the sun moves across the sky, I stand in one spot, studying and recording until a finished work is completed. For example, see: Flux Of The Street.
Photography is simply having the camera at hand, with a heightened sense of awareness, ready to click the shutter at an opportune time . . . and then go forth again for more. For example, see: Ducking.
|Chicken seller in a market in Hoi An, Vietnam|
Generally, paintings are far more valuable on the market, since they are made entirely by the artist’s hand are unique, whereas photos become prints that are massed produced.
“To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark (born 31 January 1893 in Paris, France; died 9 May 1993 in Asolo, Italy)