The humble field
They are oceans. Don’t you think so? If you’ve ever been in the western US, like Dakotah, Montana or Washington, you’ve seen it too. The winds dance across endless wheat or corn or beans. Not a tree in sight. If a boat would only float across them.
At every moment it can change character; a blank canvas unto itself. Depending on the season, the time of day, the angle of perspective, it becomes an expression of its environment. And an inspiration to capture. What’s over those hills? Behind that tree line? Beyond that horizon?
Can I share another memory with you? My dad had many careers (fruit don’t fall far… I know). One that involved me the most was when he drove 18-wheeler. Criss-crossing the country, my eyes saw it all – from the saddle of a Kenworth. I’ll never forget how impressively high was my vantage of a cabover big rig. Like riding an elephant. I could see form 30 miles to the earth’s curve. I was thunderstruck and in complete euphoria to witness this amazing place we call America.