First, after decades on this planet I still can’t understand why any warm-blooded creature would prefer to sit in the sun and sweat as a mode of relaxation. Make no mistake, those in the park who had chosen to bask in the direct sunlight were in fact gleaming with sweat. How can anyone consider effortless sweating enjoyable? You have simply produced the by-product of an exhausting workday (sticky, sweaty skin) without the satisfaction of having actually accomplished anything. And please don’t tell me you actually want a tan. What is this? 1975? Is George Hamilton making a comeback as a sex symbol? It’s hard to believe that there are people out there who are willing to turn their epidermis into luggage-grade material for a different shade of skin colour.
Second, I think I know why I prefer photographs to paintings. Photographers, those who don’t rely heavily on Photoshop, are faced with the challenge of a large natural constraint: reality. Unlike their painter counterparts who have a whole ‘palette’ of tools at their disposal to interpret the world as they wish, photographers, I believe, have only a handful devices at their disposal. I won’t go into the details now, but I will say that these constraints, for me, produce a certain poignance, a momentary glimpse, if you will, that I have only seen in photography. A good photograph, in my opinion is the visual equivalent of a good Haiku poem. Hopefully, some of the examples here might give you an idea of what I am taking about.