Yesterday, in between errands, I managed to sneek a peek through some old windows that were basking in the morning light.
This structure, located just down the Woman's Club Road, is chock-a-block full of windows just begging and screaming to be photographed.
When I heard all their pleas, I pulled over and did exactly as they asked.
The one below might be my favorite.
Even after zooming out
(or is it dezooming? unzooming? dezumbafying? Whatever it's called when you press the button to zoom back) I still love this window and the shadow it casts on the wood.
Maybe the shot below is my favorite.
I love how the vine, almost barren but still supporting a few leaves, frames the window; how the window is simultaneously dark, empty yet reflective; how the wood panels cling to their original life of red paint even though time is stripping away all their color.
I'd name this photo Life and Death.
Do they pay money for analyzing photos that had no meaning ever when they were taken? Because I'm pretty sure I could read meaning into a Tic Tac (based on color, flavor, position in the dispenser, circumstances under which said Tic Tac was sampled, and my mood that particular day) whether there was any intended meaning or not. All day long.
To put these windows into context, below is
a dezumbafied shot a shot of the same windows from farther back.
Is there anyone reading who can tell me what this building used to be?
What is it called when you un-zoom the camera lens?
What is it called when you once could write a college-level essay in another language but now you can't even write in your native language without sounding like a first grade primer?
(That last one is a rhetorical question, of course. The person asking already has a running list of potential answers, and all of them boil down to hypochondria age-related issues up to and including Old Timers, which is how someone I know pronounces Alzheimer's. Seriously.)
