I don’t want to be the one telling you a story in words, I want to be the one telling you a story in a photo, but who’s story is it?
Are you seeing and interpreting the scene in the same way I do? Does it matter?
The photograph as it was taken tells one story, what that story is may be entirely up to the viewer, after I have processed it, there are some subtle and some not so subtle changes to the finished image (not edited, nothing has been taken out or added), in this manner, I hope to direct the line of thinking in a certain way, whether it works or not is another matter, but in this way I am interpreting the scene my way, and lending to it my feelings; how the viewer sees it is still up to the viewer.
Many people take scenes literally, others concoct long tales based on the elements in the frame, others may just have an emotional reaction but not know precisely why; if it affects you, then I am happy.
At Day’s End – 14-3289 | Lusignan, East Coast Demerara | 2014
Click on the image to see it in the Gallery along with other images in the Black and White Collection.
8 thoughts on “At Day’s End”
What the photographer sees and intends by his creation are not always shared by the viewer. The same is true for poetry and other creative expression. For me, what counts is having a response from the viewer or reader.
The stories you tell with your photos, especially the black and white prints where color doesn’t distract the mind, always draw my attention. “At Day’s End” tells me many stories about our lives and our world.
Thanks. I see it the same way. art is interpretive, unfortunately, for some, if it isn’t a pretty picture, they don’t get it 🙂
For those who want pretty pictures, there are lots of those available 🙂
The title, At Day’s End, added an even more sentimental feeling towards the image. In my imagination I would assume a man lives in that hut, a man on his own adventures with the doll hanging lifeless but ironically threatening from the rod. A man that watches the tide rolls in and rolls out- a man that puffs his cigarettes and squints at the sea with wind tangled hair and thinking of her, the Lady of the Sea, as he had dreamt of her on stormy nights. I see a man of contentment on some days and bitter-sweetness on others. 😀
Thanks Bela, write the story 🙂
🙂 you’re welcome.
You ladies are on a roll. Very good. To be contented with the “little” one has when “little ” is so so tiny. Brings to mind “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth”