images

•June 10, 2009 • Leave a Comment

8-10.18-10.2CSC_7300CSC_7299bauerle photo story

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T.F. Edgewater

•February 18, 2009 • Leave a Comment

Two Poems by T.F. Edgewater

Explosions in the sky

To feel colossal is no feat of man

for he must feel larger each day – and lives to do so

But to feel bantam is the true victory.

To do so –  i would suggest an explosion in the sky.

Sorrows and Cinders

The spell cast on those mortals of cinders

Yet grace has given them ardor –

to grow into fierce children again.

A poem by F.W. Pitts

•February 9, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I love this poem.  It’s been on my mind constantly lately…..just wanted to share it with you.

Maker of the Universe
As Man, for man was made a curse.

The claims of Law which He had made,
Unto the uttermost He paid.

His holy fingers made the bough,
Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow;

The nails that pierced His hand were mined,
In secret places He designed.

He made the forest from whence there sprung
The tree on which His body hung;

He died upon a cross of wood,
Yet made the hill on which it stood.

The sky that darkened o’er His head,
By Him above the earth was spread.

The sun that hid from Him its face,
By His decree was poised in space.

The spear which spilled His precious blood
Was tempered in the fires of God.

The grave in which His form was laid
Was hewn in rocks His hands had made.

The throne on which He now appears
Was His from everlasting years;

But a new glory crowns His brow,
And every knee to Him shall bow:

The Maker of the universe.

—- F.W. Pitt

PHX

•February 3, 2009 • Leave a Comment

A while ago, my wife and i collaborated on an article for Relevant Magazine. She wrote, and i shot. It was an amazing time-not only working with such an amazing journalist and someone i love, but also covering some amazing stories. Relevant printed one photo, but here is more…..

some random work

•February 3, 2009 • Leave a Comment

short piece published…a while ago

•February 2, 2009 • 1 Comment

Aetatis Suae[1]

By J. Thomas Bauerle

One aged gentleman traveled slowly down the empty road with nowhere to be, but many places to go. With the seasoned bicycle beneath him and his cares long past, he was pleased and content with his destination. There was a rhythm being played out by his pedals as each turn carried him, carried him closer to nowhere and further from everywhere. He carried the wisdom that he claimed through time and in the eyes that could discern the important from that which was lacking, he examined what was before him as a blessing. The handlebars where in the hands of a gentle lover, and these were the hands that could shape lives and sow seeds of hope in barren lands. And in this picture there were no lines and an absence of frames, it was assurance found in freedom.

Being that it was late fall, and the afternoon was cool, the time spent in the meditation grew longer and deeper each day. He rode on the crimson velvet laid before him by the past era, this was the glory laid before him by time. Knowing that time is the greatest of skeptics, the honor was great, and the gesture was far from unnoticed. In this celebration he was drunk on the air and danced over hills and through each turn.

And He thought to himself:

I have lived this life as well as any life could be lived, I have aged and I am weathered. I have read many books, and I have learned phrases in Latin. A fortiori[2] I am convinced that the youth within me has not faded or waned in any way. And though I may be fettered to age, I am not envious or regretful of my years A priori[3]. I have no stage, I have no memoirs, but I have this bicycle and a true companion it has been. I have left by the road side nothing that I now desire. I have taken no journey I now consider pointless. These thoughts are not memoirs, they have been my creed. Yes, it maybe ok for me to be where I am, but it may not be ok for me to remain here. That is why I ride. I pass through many seasons and have seen eras come and go, but I am in one season and ad vitam aeternam[4] I will be in this season. A season of fate’s perfection.

One aged gentleman traveled slowly down the empty road with nowhere to be, but many places to go. Beneath his breath he whispered this Latin phrase: acta est fabula, plaudite, which simply means, the play is over, applaud.


[1] Of his own age

[2] With yet stronger reason

[3] From what comes before

[4] for all time

out of focus…..

•January 27, 2009 • Leave a Comment

I’m a photojournalism major-i know this. I try a represent reality as closely as i can. that means focus, aperture, shutter speed….blah blah blah. but i love breaking rules, and i’ve been going to school for photography for a long time i deserve to do what i want….i think. A reminder to all who take pictures: your pictures are NOT only as good as your photographic skills.

My teacher was going on and on about how he sick og “GWAC” a “guy with a camera”. but i want to be just that. i hope that my pictures don’t scream “JAMES!” but rather that i’m just a guy with a camera that tries to capture things that are important or just enjoyable. even if they are out of focus…cause hey…i’m just a guy with a camera……