Each to Her Own

This.

Chipped paint.

Texture.

Weathering.

I need it.

Don't ask why.

I don't know why.

I just need it now.

Not every trail is naturally pristine

but even twisted metal panels stuck in a "stream" look beautiful in the right light along the Village Trail.

One person's old junk

is another's new pleasure.

Flow!

The thing about making something is that the more I do it, the more I want to do it, and the more I want to do it and the more I do it, the more likely I am to make something new.

Yesterday's and today's metal and paint shots inspired an Aha!

The next time I shoot a single something odd and get a snap that I really and truly like, I will challenge myself to find other subjects on the same theme, until I take a photo of some other odd thing, . . .

. . . and today, I found it quite by accident.

Plastic!

Confession

As the child of, sister of, and aunt of paint manufacturers, I confess this: I love paint -- the tantalizingly acidic smell that sticks in my nose hairs; the pockety-pockety-pockety echo of a working ball mill; the thick swish of large paddles swirling pigments in waist-high mixers; the metallic clang of lids pressed onto cans; the thunder of 50-gallon drums, turned at an angle and rolled along the floor; the rhythmic passes of a printing press; the splotches of paint on concrete floor and machines and work clothes and painters' caps and skin. Short of standing in a factory making paint, placing my hands on a shuddering paint shaker is a meditative joy unlike any other.

And the shaker itself is a delight to the eye.

Off-Label Usefulness

Like some prescription drugs,

a lens hood can serve unintended purposes.

Bench Warmer