the worst part is, having no idea.
this weekend, while i was in the process of shooting two glorious black & white rolls of film, i had an interesting conversation in central park. i never knew his name. where he came from. or that much else about him. but we talked about art. the conversation started out dealing with different aspects of photography and it stretched as far as oppression in nazi germany. i couldn't tell if he was crazy. or homeless. or maybe both. regardless, he was interesting. i was standing in the middle of sheep meadow lining up a shot and when i took my camera down away from my eye, he was there. i have no idea where he came from. but he started talking. i didn't care for his name and i don't think he cared for mine. his russian accent was heavy. and his abundant grey hairs gave him a dash of credibility. it was almost surreal. the conversation came out of nowhere. he was focused in the moment. and so was i. we were two men talking about things we had a passion for in life. after we finished talking, he walked on through the park and so did hasket and i. i turned around and saw him bend over to pick something up and keep walking.
i turned back around and probably for the first time ever, felt like a real artist. the guy had no idea who i was. where i came from. why i was taking a picture. but he knew art/photography made my heart smile. and he respected me for that no matter what.
a few days after craig died, i ordered some chinese food. just what i usually get. nothing special. after i was done eating, i broke open the fortune cookie.
it said, "you will have a bright future."
i really hope this is true. as of late, i feel like i'm floating. that the anchor that was purpose has been cut free from me. i'm not grounded anymore.
i'm stretched but i can't figure out if it's too far or not enough.