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Looking Down


I've often said we live in a remarkable world that is happy to reward observation with a visual feast.


Corie once told me about an assignment she had as a St. John's College student: find a small patch of earth and observe. She said staring at a square inch of dirt for an hour seemed like a ridiculous undertaking at first, but she and her fellow students began to understand there was much more to observe than they had anticipated.


My very first assignment in art school was along the same lines: things you notice but don't see. Photography, like many other visual art forms, has a unique way of making us see the world in a different way.


I read an article recently that discussed the importance of awe in our lives. Between traffic jams, deadlines, grocery shopping, doctor's appointments and everything else that comes with being a functional adult, it seems that being awestruck isn't a priority.


Most of the time, when I think of being awestruck, I imagine some sweeping mountain vista where snowcapped peaks reflect the magentas and yellows of a vibrant sunset.


That type of awe is great, and I'm grateful for each time I've experienced it. But awe can be found anywhere. Sometimes, it's right under our feet–a bed of dry leaves, weathered wood or stones rounded from centuries of ocean waves.


When one of my sisters was very young, she screeched to a halt to stop and watch a small ant colony busy at work. She was captivated and refused to go any further. It's a shame we lose that as we get older.


Corie and I, along with her mother who's visiting us in Tbilisi, will be going back to Batumi this week and I'm super excited about getting out and exploring the city. The weather forecast looks like it's going to be a great time to wander around with a camera, so I hope you join me next week for some new images!


Forest Floor, New Zealand


Black Sea Beach, Batumi Georgia

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