uncommons

There is a certain raw staccato rhythm to photographer Peter McCollough’s new blog, Seven Ways to Sunday.  The writing is unmolested, as if thoughts were arriving from connecting links directly from his mind. The photography collaborates with the words, as if they nourish each other through a form of mutual and exclusive dialogue. Tim Gruber, who kindly made mention of Peter’s blog a short while ago, could not have said it any wiser. This type of honest and open writing, if scattered into the wild, would agreeably make our communities that much richer. Here’s a recent quote from his latest post:

All the people become faceless in memory… reduced to an emotional or visual topography that you navigated for X hours; I walked here, I waited there, I squirmed this way for this photo of whomever. I probably took a picture of the War Rabbit and a child that ran in the paper the next day that made someone happy or embarrassed. Maybe his long lost father saw it and was ashamed. Maybe the kids at school ridiculed him. Maybe this child was staring at me as I worked and a few minutes later they cut their finger and will forever associate the two until we meet again. Maybe at a gas station in North Dakota and maybe they will hate me and they won’t be able to figure out how so. I do hope.

I do hope as well.

Top: Sophia’s Hill for Friday the 13th, photograph copyright Peter McCollough, used with permission.