Art forms over the millennia, the many genres created during which the state of the world impacted both their forms and vision. People in turn delight, are shocked, curiosity is stoked and the fervor of creation admired. Art, the ideals of which are meant to enlighten, to inform, to soothe, to strengthen the very insides of humanities hope for peace amidst the ever constant backdrop of change.
Around the frames of these creations we exist, in all the varied ways of being. Within the frame the artist in a most individual fashion takes his tools and brings them to a life that transcends the frame. This is the hope of an artist; to reach others in forms that unites each of us to another. To this endeavor, I too present my work.
Photography gathers memories, this was the purpose as a young mother photographing my family during special occasions and holiday events over the years. Quite some time ago I began to photograph in a new way, choosing to learn how to create from a photograph an artistic impression that finds a place within it. Much can be read about the creative process and as a source of inspiration I researched and still find enlightening, conversations with others on this topic. Particularly, I connected to the writings of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi on the concept of “flow”.
Exposure to photography involves the process of taking a photograph along with the sensitivity of observing the subject matter in new and varied perspectives. Looking at photographic work is a vast exploration into style and vision which helps me to understand how others approach this genre. Somewhere within this process, I began to write because it is a way of expression. A way of giving a voice to the work. A way of connecting this voice to others. Creating an identity that is literary from art, gives art a new language in addition to the visual. The mixture of thoughts in a rhythm that compliments the colors, the musical rhyme of poetic thoughts, the poetic verse that emerges solely from the work is an instrument I want to play.
Ekphrastic poetry engages the poet to explore art. The transformation of visual into literary began as a description of art forms. “The term ekphrastic originates from a Greek expression for description. The earliest ekphrastic poems were vivid accounts of real or imagined scenes. Later poets moved beyond description to reflect on deeper meanings. Today, the word ekphrastic can refer to any literary response to a non-literary work.”
Recently I was asked what do I enjoy photographing. My response was weighted with hesitation and then I replied, people. This though is not solely represented in my endeavors out in the field. Nature is a source of much of my current photographic experiences. Within nature the sights and sounds, the very air comes into me and all around me is opened.
Susan Kamber
Rivulets of Rhyme
The colors, the colors all running down my back, poured on by water and disturbing the black. The flow of these colors creating rivulets of rhyme. They motion and curve and fall out of line. They ease into places, they forage a dream, they turn into blossoms, completely it seems. They become like the rhyme of a beautiful song, they touch you in places that probably long. For something so simple as colors on rhyme. The idea...colored water is simply sublime.
Girl Near a Fish Pond
Ripples in the water...in the forest...On the leaves...In the air...In the movements ...Making motions on the trees.
The fish often tell her.
As so often do the birds.
The girl calls it special.
In her seamed together words.
That are tunes sung with purpose.
Near the fish pond by her home.
Her voice often carries.
Sweet intentions to her song.
Ripples in the water...in the forest...On the leaves...In the air...In the movements ...Making motions on the trees.
The Perception of Solitude
Solitude has a gentle wind to it against my face. I feel the colors between my fingers. This perfumed scent of solitude. The kind of solitude that lays in the field and grows flowers. Pink and blue ones with yellow shadows and purple shade. The gentle breeze sends them. The scent of sky and earth fills me. I cannot be restrained.
Every Forest
Bulwarks, forest inhabitants mixed in with the tree branches and leaves and everything else.
Sometimes they speak,
A mirthful blend of rhymes and sometimes they carry handfuls of colorful fruits.
Limes and plums and oranges.
A juicy concoction when squeezed.
Or turned into colorful balls they play with,
Until one lands on you.
Looking up I always know they are around when that happens.
A particular bulwark had a conversation.
It was quite long and for the rest of the day I was happy.
(A playful way to speak with children about the forest)
A Song for the Birds and People That Fly
The sound of the leaves written primarily by trees.
As such was the beauty heard plainly with ease.
Up mountains, round rivers.
A song for the birds.
For the people that fly there.
Across valleys was heard.
Now what be the mention of this, you may wonder,
Alone to unravel the blur from down under.
A song can be sung from the language of trees.
I heard in the sky and then carried to thee.
The Red Earth
The red earth changed me.
Turned me into a feeling of warmth.
That red earth place of opened walls and play stations.
A condensed ocean, sky blue above it.
The air filled with breaths of majestic opulence like flowers coming out of ones mouth,
Blooming the essence of gold.
Songs, the rhythm an intersection of ideas tumbling into me.
As dance steps,
As lines becoming colors,
Drawing trees their flowers.
People their homes.
Words their poetry, red like the earth.
