While working in my garden the other night, I noticed being bathed in a velvety pink light. The sunset/cloud combination was a stunner and as a budding photojournalist, I ran for the trusty Nikon.
I've been working on perspective....trying to see things and take pictures from unexpected angles. I'm looking for the unconventional, interesting 'arty' shot.
I was trying to capture the gorgeousness of the sky while having the lovely blooming yuccas in the foreground. To accomplish this, I kept lowering the camera and lowering my perspective until my side laid on the bare ground.
That's when I sensed the rapidly-spreading, searing pain. I looked for a fire ant bed. I looked for cactus thorns. All I knew was my arm, hip and lower leg felt flaming and I was an uncomfortable distance (being injured and all) from my house.
Jogging back to the house with the precious camera swinging around my neck, I hoped my throat wouldn't close up in a bout of anaphylactic shock. Would the Texan come looking for me? Did he know I was out here in mortal allergic danger? Would I collapse in a heap 'o hives onto the surrounding cholla?
Blessedly, I made it inside and dove for the shower and the Benadryl. I recounted to the Texan of my brush with death and he ASSURED me he did not know where I was, nor would he have looked for me until much later. He did seem impressed with the rash, though.
This was the type of shot I was going for. Yucca in foreground, breath-taking clouds in background. Me on ground in inappropriate clothing for rugged country breaking out in welts. Glorious pinkness all around.
It's the classic artist tale. The more we suffer, the crazier we are...
...the more creative and highly lauded our art. Think Van Gogh, Mozart and Sylvia Plath. Think of the tortured blogger who parodied Thornton Wilder's classic play, Our Town, with prairie dog photos!
Can you think of other talented, crazy artists? Tell me...I'm all ears. For now, anyway.