Blog Posts - Photography by John Holliger

Fascinations

11/5/2018

Fascinations

How they do change over a lifetime
and yet so deep within
our fascinations are us.
My fascinations with the tiny
Have led me into new worlds of beauty and wonder.
And languages I did not know;
Palmer Amarantha, Nutledge, Basidiolichen,


My First Fascination
A child’s bare feet walking on the wet sand

I scan through this clear water for a Lucky Stone,
Floating and rolling along at my feet,
Ancient, ageless remnants of the ear bone of the white fish,
A stone of remembrance of another life of Erie,
Inscribed with a large “L.”
Reaching over to catch this floating wonder
I become connected to the ancient life that lived and lives
Here
My home.

Returning,
I enter a body of life
Far larger and other than me
To which, I belong.

Finding two lucky stones in one morning
Brought me such joy and contentment,
I do belong
To the enduring life of this Great Lake.

Looking north across the Lake
her horizon disappears
Dropping out of sight as the Earth curves round
Gifting me with wonder.

Oh, the unseen beauty and mysteries of
This Great Lake,
“Erie,”
An extinct word for Iroquoian peoples
Who lived and walked the wet sands
Centuries before.

My beginning to a life of fascination,
And all I did was stand still
In the wet sand where moving waters
Were giving up their strength on the sand
Then falling back
Returning to their home,
Erie.

All I did was stand still
Gazing at the far side of home,
Then turning back
To the here of this wet sand.

Do you long to stand still
at home
on this Earth?

Do you yearn for the wandering,
Floating freedom
0f the Lucky Stone?


©2018 John Holliger

My Spiritual Companion, Edward Weston

11/1/2018

My Spiritual Companion, Edward Weston

I can almost feel the breath of Edward Weston,
as if we are both leaning over his wet print in the final tray of fixer.
We are in his darkroom. Then he turns over the wet print and
we both gasp.
The contrast between the black soil and the white tomato plants across that expansive rising hill is dramatic,
crisp,
clear.
No wonder our breath exclaims surprise and delight.
In the early 20th century prints are made directly from the negative.
They are the same size as the negative; 6 x 12, 8 x 14.
So many negatives are awful, littering the floor for years.
10,000 I like to say.
Until something changes inside Weston,
and he wakes up one of the finest fine art photographers.

I thought I was “somethun,’” when I was ordained. All that seminary training.
But no.
It didn’t “stick,” it didn’t matter until after 10 years.
That was when something moved a mile in my sleep.
I woke up, a priest.

On the far side of 10,000 clicks of the shutter
and 10,000 deletes,
one morning along a stream at dawn,
I am the stream.
Together, we flow to the sea.

Everyone in that small Weston gallery is 12 inches from the prints of Edward Weston, so close we are not aware of anyone else in the room.
We are leaning with Weston over the wet trays of prints in the darkroom.
Photography is
intimate,
intrusive,
disarming,
so close and personal
our breath can seem like one breath.

Weston’s presence is there,
in each creation, and
we can only gaze by coming close, 12 inches away.
Weston’s negatives could be 6 by 12 inches, and so were his prints. The negative is not a technical achievement of perfection after all those duds are tossed.

He is now on the far side of technique.
The print is not created from a cookbook of recipes,
water temperatures or chemical formulas.
but there is also that other day.
He is now well beyond what any cookbook could teach him.
Walking out,
he knows what he is searching for…
his own
hidden
interior stream,
his own voice.

What he learns in that moment is what he felt, seconds before the book goes flying.
Those seconds hold a hard truth; one word: stop.
You are no longer expressing your own voice
Walk out. Walk until you find again,
your own
hidden stream,
your own voice.
Follow wherever it leads.
Do not look back.
All you’ll see is an ocean wake,
a receding wave.

Wall art? Forget it.
Weston’s work is held in our lap,
then we raise the tomato hill
up close,
12 inches close,
And we marvel at the beauty of the Earth.
We see something more we had missed in all those other times we gazed on his work.
No, this is nothing like documentary photography.
Edward Weston (b. 1886) is one of the first fine art photographers
who intuitively experiences the intimacy,
two people leaning so close,
his breath and your breath are one.

Three Lake Huron, Tawas Point, Images and Three Haiku's

10/29/2018

Broken Rocks

Curling lines in sand
Leaping waters
Sliding up then back,
New curving lines among
Broken rocks,
Here

To the vanishing horizon.

The Cover

The cover of indigo and magenta
Warm the waters beneath.
Are the waters stirring to find their favorite sleep position?
Or is this one of those other nights?

Opening Clouds

Opening clouds
Create a threshold.
Will you turn away with your fears, or
Will you enter
Bringing your fears with you?

A Threshold Not of Our Making

10/5/2018

From thoughtfully crafted words,
Within hand-thrown pottery,
A presence
reaches out
to you,
a gentle breeze
opening a space within.

Sometimes
a silent whisper,
“stop.”

You put down your brush,
Your needle,
Your stylus.

You do not know the source of this sotto voce
from the deep within,
your creating image before you,
your rough poem,
The first lines of your cross-cut stitching,

Presences open a space within you,
A new horizon
A faint deer path
Leading to a threshold.

The decision is yours.

You have lived an illusion;
You can control your attentiveness
Where you want to go.


But now
wide-eyed,
You did not create this open space
This new horizon
The almost visible deer path
Leading to a threshold
You could never have imagined in your world of dreams.

The decision is yours.

When I lay a chaos of prints before me,
an awareness goes its own way,
to certain prints and not others.

They speak to each other,
where they belong
to tell the story.

Your part in making the story is humbling,
As is the telling of your story,

Like this one.

When the potter sits down at a potter’s wheel
for the first time,
age twenty,
a space silently opens within.

A decision about this unexpected horizon
Is before him.

The young man,
Knows immediately this is what he wants to do
for the rest of his life,

Before he knows anything about
Skillfully throwing a pot.

When I stand with
my legs interwoven with the legs of the tripod,
my legs and feet root themselves in the earth,
my upper body weaves and tilts,
angles and dances freely in an open space
I have not opened.

Our energy follows where our attention leads the way.

When making a path in a gallery,
an exhibit,
a museum,
in solitude,

take note,

the sensations and impulses.

Our awareness goes its own way to reveal the faint path.

Be attentive to way opening,

this space you did not create

will change everything.

What will you do?

   John Holliger©2018

Why are you Slowing Down?

9/30/2018

Why Are You Slowing Down?
A presence,
a livingness, reach out for our attentiveness
from thoughtfully crafted words,
hand-thrown pottery,
a painting that has had may resting places, sometimes lasting months, before the way opens again.

Why are you slowing down?

When looking at a work of art,
including yourself,
a work of art has many resting places.
Two forms of presence are woven together;
your own presence
and the livingness of the work of art.
Both,
as one,
may softly long for your attentiveness.
Both presences often open a space within you,
a space inviting a decisive change of direction.

Why are you… slowing… down?

We imagine we control our attentiveness,
but our awareness has a life of its own.

Where has your attentiveness gone, on its own?

When I lay a series of prints on the floor before me,
my awareness often goes
on its own
to certain prints and not others.
When the potter sat down at a potter’s wheel for the first time,
age twenty,
a space opened within.
The young man,
now in that space,
realizes this is what he wants to do
for the rest of his life.

When I stand behind the tripod
my legs interwoven with the legs of the tripod,
my legs and feet rooting themselves into the earth,
my upper body weaves and tilts,
angles and dances freely in an open space,
I have not opened.

Why am I slowing down?

Our energy goes where our attention goes.
When making a path in a gallery,
an exhibit,
a museum,
in my solitude,
I take note of my thoughts and sensations,
impulses and nudging feelings.
My awareness goes its own way to open space within me.

I am slowing down
To be attentive to Way opening within,
to note the new, open space that will change the direction of my life,
if I consider
what this newly open space means.

This is why
I am slowing down.
                                                                                        John Holliger

Why are you slowing down?

9/29/2018

A presence,
a livingness, reach out for our attentiveness
from thoughtfully crafted words,
hand-thrown pottery,
a painting that has had may resting places, sometimes lasting months, before the way opens again.

When looking at a work of art,
including yourself,
a work of art has many resting places.
Two forms of presence are woven together;
your own presence
and the livingness of the work of art.
Both,
as one,
may softly long for your attentiveness.
Both presences often open a space within you,
a space invites a decisive change of direction.

We imagine we control our attentiveness,
but our awareness has a life of its own.

Where has your attentiveness gone, on its own?

When I lay a series of prints on the floor before me,
my awareness often goes
on its own
to certain prints and not others.
When the potter sat down at a potter’s wheel for the first time,
age twenty,
a space opened within.
The young man,
now in that space,
realizes this is what he wants to do
for the rest of his life.

When I stand behind the tripod
my legs interwoven with the legs of the tripod,
my legs and feet rooting themselves into the earth,
my upper body weaves and tilts,
angles and dances freely in an open space,
I have not opened.

Our energy goes where our attention goes.
When making a path in a gallery,
an exhibit,
a museum,
in your solitude,
take note of your thoughts and sensations,
impulses and nudging feelings.
Our awareness goes its own way to open space within us.
Why am I slowing down?
To be attentive to Way opening within,
to note the space that will change the direction of my life,
if I consider
what this newly open space means.
John Holliger

Unseen Florals

8/12/2018

A Zen Vision

8/1/2018

A vision through the pelting rain on the car's windshield...

3/31/2018

Pushing Down the Rising Star

3/30/2018

Pushing the Rising Star

Beneath the horizon

Decade by decade

Even as pearls of photons race ahead

Of the lumbering Star,

Entering me through my cracks

(Imagine that, ego, cracks!}

Merciful thresholds inward.

And I, longing to be found,

Turn into the Light.

Pushing down
Turning Toward

Light and humility.

Now my body

Wakes me declaring,

“Enough.

Be off to ebony places of meeting

Speeding photons

Curling ‘round Earth.

Present your cracks

Thresholds to everything that is new, this day.”