Escape Into My Windy Tales

windytalesSetting the parameters. That’s really the hard part. First, you’ll need to switch from macro to landscape, so you can go the distance. Steady your hands and be careful not to cover the lens with your fingers. Keep your eye on the prize, take aim and capture it. Quick, one more time, just in case you miss. Hold onto this image and hold it tight until you get swept away to your home away from home, rich in red spider lilies. Never mind the fragrance of lost memories, abandonment and couples destined to never meet again. Death knocks, not in a morbid sense, but to acknowledge all good things come to an end like summer before fall. Change is in the air and I wince at the day my heart ceases to sway in the wind. Still, we’ll always have the photographs.

Wonder breathes through these unframed, not-so-perfect pictures, dreams are made out of. White outlines surround scenery as if construction paper was cut and pasted for children’s arts and crafts. Excess glue spills around hand-made trees, drawing a chalky border before the skies. Imagination thrives in a place where the dots aren’t quite connected and you may have to fill in the blanks for yourself. Watch, with your almond eyes, blocky breath and rectangular rain. Everything is rough around the edges, from the shifting clouds to the shadows they cast. Peeking rays of sunshine forge blades of gold, tangible as the camera you hold in your undersized hands. Even people are misshapen into this angular design and all that escapes it is the curving wind, swirling into The Starry Night.

Departures into painting propel postcard memories beyond stylistic poignancy and passion for the past. The audience is the artist when the canvas is filled, thanks to a closing shutter. Hopping between mediums, photography is developed with pastel, which illustrates your whole aesthetic journey as well. There’s no correct way to look at the world, flip it upside down if you like or strip it to black and white. Color can be added when you awake, but for the moment, leaves blow by like pieces of broken pencil lead over the lightly shaded drawing of your face. Through the art of storytelling, waves of words are projected above the pillows with glowing temptations of vacation. Hard not to chase them, unless you’re already scaling the walls, losing yourself in humungous shadow puppets.

In awe at the gleam of a kicked can flashing by, as bright as a flight’s navigation light, like a diamond in the sky. Limits are fragile things for a flying squirrel clearing cloud nine as a caped crusader, wearing human hair. Children’s creativity sees a flurry of felines leave lunar landscapes to encircle earth, not as space invaders; that’s just how winter works. Come December, rainbow snow falls like confetti. When the party is done, ditch classroom claustrophobia for a cool breeze on the roof and let loose. Squint until natural disaster’s made magical and somehow, find fun in the way those spinning tops turn tornadoes. From the fairies in the cherry blossoms to the maze of high school, it’s so difficult describing these weird dreams to your friends. Not the one from last night, but the violet adventure you’re having right now.

Windy Tales falls in a long line of shows which can’t say no to nostalgia, but rises above the rest by tapping into a kid’s point of view in the process. Why dip your toes when you can dive inside the fountain of youth to soak in the ocean? A fantasized first kiss isn’t just hushed by the passing train and rather, rides all the way to saffron fields, wrapped in blankets of baby powder. Scarlet whirlwinds graze vanilla glazed grass and knock you off your feet before you can speak. Before you can think, you’re uplifted by a synthesis of the seasons before you can blink. Freezing your footsteps, yet melting your movement, something sweet brushes against your cheek. That’s love. Love that doesn’t know the meaning of delicate, but knows how it feels. Love only a child can imagine, love I can always escape to and should I smell a forgetful fragrance, these photographs are here to remind me.

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