Friday, March 9, 2012

note one, Ken Murphy

He gives me two hours.
We have a waitress with a beautiful smile.
I have the gumbo, he the crawfish salad.
Two teas of which we have to sweeten.
The conversation is natural and open. He has no problem with me recording it.

I have to tell myself to shut up at least four times.
It's the recurring nightmare of me trying to solve everyone's problems.
There in front of me is over thirty years of experience in a profession I want to enter.
And I suggest he teach.
What do I know?
Other than I 'd like to be his student.

Yes, photography has changed.
I ask him about that lady back in 1976.
The one who shared her love and lit a spark in a young man who could make it a fire.
He grimaces, wishes he could remember her name.
I don't give her enough credit, he says.

Then I realize it.
The first thing I loved about his photography.
He is attempting to give credit and perfecting an art in the process.
It is his intention which draws me in.




I am grateful for the first sound of seagulls as I near the ocean.







Dear Reader,
Thank you for being here.
Me with more to come

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