We found this old building on our trip to Southern Minnesota. It wasn't locked. These hand-made doors were held shut by a cotter pin.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
17.1.06
All history is hand-made.
We found this old building on our trip to Southern Minnesota. It wasn't locked. These hand-made doors were held shut by a cotter pin.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Invented arts.
At night the camera is bored with the dark, and invents a new art from the patterns of neon lights in the saloon windows.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
All history is hand-made.
We found this old building on our trip to Southern Minnesota. It wasn't locked. These hand-made doors were held shut by a cotter pin.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Invented arts.
At night the camera is bored with the dark, and invents a new art from the patterns of neon lights in the saloon windows.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The call of nostalgia
Sara uses her cell phone in a phone booth. We just had dinner at the Pedal Pusher Diner, where they play Buddy Holly songs and serve soda fountain specials, like a "Brown Cow" ... a Coca-Cola, ice cream and chocolate syrup. What will evoke nostalgia from these times fifty years from now? The iPod? Abu Ghraib prison pictures on the cover of Newsweek? Shreck?
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The call of nostalgia
Sara uses her cell phone in a phone booth. We just had dinner at the Pedal Pusher Diner, where they play Buddy Holly songs and serve soda fountain specials, like a "Brown Cow" ... a Coca-Cola, ice cream and chocolate syrup. What will evoke nostalgia from these times fifty years from now? The iPod? Abu Ghraib prison pictures on the cover of Newsweek? Shreck?
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Except the 21st Century...
This picture has everything except the 21st Century.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Except the 21st Century...
This picture has everything except the 21st Century.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
It was up to us
This is a lamp in the window of a country church. We drove for hours to find this particular place. There was a lamp in the window, but it was up to us to light it.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion
The Bible is open to Psalm 137.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
It was up to us
This is a lamp in the window of a country church. We drove for hours to find this particular place. There was a lamp in the window, but it was up to us to light it.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion
The Bible is open to Psalm 137.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The looked-at and the looking.
Sara looks for me. Jeff, where are you? Are you in there?
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Et In Arcadia Ego
The Last Supper, a very old chromolithograph on the wall of a country church, in the last light of a winter day.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
When we stop
Sometimes I pretend the shadow of the van, running along side us, is another van. It is driven by someone I loved who has died, and is racing to keep up with me. When we stop, he will explain everything. I will finally understand.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
What have I forgotten?
The simple altar has all the necessary parts of a moment outside ourselves. There are candles, to remind us that light comes and goes, and is not the real story. There are collection plates, to remind us that money comes and goes, and is not the real story. There is a Bible. There is a piece of handkmade linen on a handmade oak table. What have I forgotten? Oh, yes, the sun.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The looked-at and the looking.
Sara looks for me. Jeff, where are you? Are you in there?
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Et In Arcadia Ego
The Last Supper, a very old chromolithograph on the wall of a country church, in the last light of a winter day.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
When we stop
Sometimes I pretend the shadow of the van, running along side us, is another van. It is driven by someone I loved who has died, and is racing to keep up with me. When we stop, he will explain everything. I will finally understand.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
What have I forgotten?
The simple altar has all the necessary parts of a moment outside ourselves. There are candles, to remind us that light comes and goes, and is not the real story. There are collection plates, to remind us that money comes and goes, and is not the real story. There is a Bible. There is a piece of handkmade linen on a handmade oak table. What have I forgotten? Oh, yes, the sun.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
His finger
We have come to church when the sunlight is shining on the altar, on the open bible. God doesn't speak in the winter afternoon, but he points, and you cannot ignore the light of his finger.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
His finger
We have come to church when the sunlight is shining on the altar, on the open bible. God doesn't speak in the winter afternoon, but he points, and you cannot ignore the light of his finger.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
In the middle of the American continent, we are so far from the ocean that it is just a word. Ocean. A word for other people. But we have sky. And winter. This sky is dark with rippled clouds. They look like rumors of the ocean, echoes and imitations of a vast watery field somewhere else, in someone else's world.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
In the middle of the American continent, we are so far from the ocean that it is just a word. Ocean. A word for other people. But we have sky. And winter. This sky is dark with rippled clouds. They look like rumors of the ocean, echoes and imitations of a vast watery field somewhere else, in someone else's world.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
This tree wants to give up, but won't. Not for years. While the trunk says ?I am tired. Let me sleep?, the branches stand up, and lift up the twigs, which reach inside the sky. They are finding a handhold there. The grass seems not to notice, but it does. It knows what is going on.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
This tree wants to give up, but won't. Not for years. While the trunk says ?I am tired. Let me sleep?, the branches stand up, and lift up the twigs, which reach inside the sky. They are finding a handhold there. The grass seems not to notice, but it does. It knows what is going on.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The boy hides his face from the photographer. He is now hiding his face from you, which makes you the author of this work, and the accused. The horse leaves the frame. He will still be leaving the frame years from now, long after the boy has grown up and given his face to the world.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
The boy hides his face from the photographer. He is now hiding his face from you, which makes you the author of this work, and the accused. The horse leaves the frame. He will still be leaving the frame years from now, long after the boy has grown up and given his face to the world.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
Life comes into the picture at a trot, and steals the show. But the undulant clouds and sere purity of snow fields retain their value long after the trot of life is spent. With the trick of art, we can piece them together into a lie of frozen time. Somewhere far from you, the clouds have moved, the horse has slept, the snow has sighed and turned over in its bed.
copyright@2006 Jeff Beddow
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