Everything Old is New Again

I turned 54 in December. Not really a milestone birthday, but for me, there was something about this birthday that made me take stock about where I had been and what I wanted for my future. I wanted my future to be more relaxed, more peaceful, more giving, more artistic.

So, I made a decision to look at the world in a different light. I decided to look at everyday and overlooked objects and consider their past and think about what their future could be. And if I could, I wanted to muster my creative abilities and be part of their future.

My son gave me a very special gift for Christmas-his old camera, a Canon Rebel. He is studying photography at Rochester Institute of Technology and had outgrown the camera. Lucky me. I am challenged by its complexity (it really isn't that complex--I am just photographically challenged!), but I am working hard at learning how to use it. I am shooting photos of ordinary objects and will post my photos to this blog. At first I worried about how amateurish my photos are. But considering my resolution to be more relaxed, I have decided that my photos, no mater how amateur or primitive, chronicle where I am today. Time and practice (and input from my followers) will help me become a better photographer of the world around me. And, ike me, my photos are not perfect. But I think that is what makes them (and me) special.

So here is my first shots of seeing the beauty in the ordinary.

Travelers on Interstate 35 just north of San Antonio do a double-take when they see the giant armadillo standing guard at the entrance to Bussey's Flea Market. Some are tempted and turn around to enter the world where tables and shops overflow with things old and new. Bussey's has been there for as long as I remember, and I have been there many times. But I always stayed on the perimeter of the market on my visits. This time, I ventured into the heart of the market. I had no idea there was so much more to see. One store was filled with vintage kitchenware. Another had stained glass windows removed from a house in England. Another had dozens of pairs of lovingly worn cowboy boots.

I photographed a shop with wall-to-wall barrels filled with golf clubs. The clubs were arranged in a way that reminded me of flowers displayed in buckets at the neighborhood grocer's. I wondered how many ended up here as a result of wives who gave their husband the ultimatum, "It's me or golf!" I wondered how many clubs weren't here because the husband chose golf over the wife. I thought about how some of these clubs would be bought by wives who would learn to play because it "if you can't beat them, join them."



I love rust. I think it is because I am getting a bit rusty, so I can empathize with the patina. These stars aren't vintage, but they are rusty, so I photographed them. I was shooed away by the booth owners for taking pictures of their goods. I don't quite understand why. Maybe for the same reason I don't like to be photographed--I feel like all of my "rust" (translate:wrinkles!) show too prominently.