Great Black and White Photographers PT 3

     

What caught my eye looking in these photos is how soft it looked, and they're all filled with such emotion that can only be described as sorrow but also with a form of elegance. The lighting helps you focus on only them with nothing in the background distracting you from the subjects. They all seem to be looking off with a form innocence, but if they look at the camera it's like they're trying to tell you something; a secret of sometime. The photos just have a sense of purity, like they have never been touched by the world's harmful grasp. But some have this look, like they have seen everything the world could hit them with. It's addictive, to say the least.

I see an unknown and unique beauty, like photos you would see in a Victorian household. An unusual beauty an elegance, like a dove, a ripples in a stilled pond, the sunset on a chilly day. I see their pain in the photo, something they are trying to hide from anyone but me. I see an innocence, the type of innocence you would see on something that wasn't tainted by the world, like a wine glass barely balancing on a tightrope above white sheets.

I smell old oak wood on the walls of the late nineteen-hundred home. I smell burnt pine from the fireplace and I smell a faint incense of flower. Maybe some vanilla or lavender. I smell make-shift shampoo and highly priced perfume- orchids? I smell the faint scent of rotting wood and wall paper.

I hear a rusty record player, Mozart or Bach with a calming melody. I hear creaky wood planks with each step and squeaky hinges on each door. I hear the muffled sound of children giggling in the other room, trying to stay quiet and not wake up their mother past bedtime. I hear the chime of an old clock, telling the hour with a please echo. I hear the snap of a camera capturing a photo of the newly made past.

I taste dust on high shelves that escaped to the lower levels. I taste dirt that wasn't completely washed off in the pail for the vegetables. I taste homemade meals from over an erupted fireplace and served on shiny, glass plates. I taste copper from the penny- just to be sure it was real.

I feel course and soft hair, tattered just right to give a flow-like look. I feel rough dresses- knit to perfection for household duties. I feel the smooth and rough texture of the wall paper, painted with exact detail. I feel silky cheeks and smooth, delicate hands. I feel the dreadful and mysterious atmosphere, the pain and sorrow in each photo snapped. I feel the delicate features on The Echo, angled to perfection to show the innocence hidden.

I would love to make a blog for Cameron's photographs. I could share how each photo makes me feel, the atmosphere, and just explain how I personally see the photos. I would love to post each photo by itself and share details from what the viewer might have- and what I have.