Walt Disney’s The Wonderful World of Color– -comes to mind:

RabelaisIan worlds explode upon contact like a supernova inviting intimate lovers and expansive dream makers to seek the great divide: I see the reflections beyond buildings, cities, continents and more: I am transported to the mingling of numbers on a page: 118 elements that are us.

Photography measures the distance between where you stand, what you see and where you dream…math and science become elixirs: The necessity for experiments and numbers to matter: To map the ages of time before the narrow light of the day vanishes: That is photography: That is the world ahead and beyond.

I see the migration of incongruent colors: My eyes rest: Artists’ Vermeer, Hopper, DaVinci or the ultramarine Yves Klein canvases flaming into deep furnaces: The expectation is akin to waiting for the atom to split and make brilliance in the sky: It is the manner I always intend to see my captures- -the way I hope to see: My aspirations are amusing but live…

The history of glass can be seen in architectures’ evolution: It is a marriage to nature: Photography has captured it in fractured moments: It is like imagining a few grams of mercury spilling like laughing balls from thermometers atop a granite floor like the Mojave Desert’s dazzling sands piercing into the infinite skies. Then consider the 118 members of the permanent Periodic table: Is it possible that the entire 118 matter? I might need 100,000 less the 500 words I share here to explain:

Let’s start from middle earth to the million corners of the earth: Glass has become part of an architectural revolution: Silica Sand, Oxygen, Sodium, Calcium have always inhabited a space on the planet: They all seem to dance with whispering whistles: It becomes a child’s game, “Telephone”: Things heard become, things never dreamed: Things seen become dreams’ realities.

The entire planet from the Sahara to the Amazon; the Congo to the Dolomites; resting under a waterfall, to the closest rush of molten lava; Colorado mountains to almost everywhere the earths’ geological  formations  have lived for millenniums: My dreams becoming realities are quite new,quite rhapsodic. My dreams migrate across continents: I stand from the corners of the earth to middle earth: I stand in one square corner of all  parcels of land: A vibration of vascular connections are heard every moment I breathe:

Photography’s marriage of science and math are relived each day: The dressed nakedness that is nature is witnessed in every frame my days are here- – My fly fishing  lure is in view: A rivers’  reflections are rippled with life below: I splash as if excavating; I pull the water’s movements apart; I see my photographer’s beginnings: Members of the “118”; reside below the known levels of the river bed:

The reflections in architecture are in the end like the most organic natural beauties and music compositions with well placed crescendos: A towering edifice or wee little homes on the prairies read the same in my eyes: I catch a glimpse of the built space broadly- – boldly escaping into the skies- -: Then vanishing into the light of another angle: The enigmatic rides behind, below, and ahead: I see the loneliness and excitement of a story to be told: I hear the reflections telling stories about the untold city. The reflections casting personalities across the streets and the landscapes: The table of  elements are seen within: The glass is history: I am standing in history: Before me there was another… I have built the canvases for my cameras to breathe when they are running in a dream: The breath is seen neither as art, science nor math. But the history; All that remains is the history that once was.