I’ve been reading The Daybooks of Edward Weston. Actually, I should say I’ve been re-reading; but way back these did not make such an impression on me.
Weston is a photographer I admire tremendously. There’s a great deal to be learned about photography from his words, and (more importantly) from his photos.
In my life situation, it is certainly amusing to read of his irritation at being “nurse maid and policeman” for his three boys—and the trials and tribulations of having his subject matter (like a couple of his famous peppers) eaten by his son Brett. And the pumpkins he photographed that ended up as pumpkin pie.
Of course, my love life is a great deal less exciting than Weston’s; the multiple involvements with his subjects, who all seemed to have danced for him in the nude, is part of the appeal of reading Weston’s diary.
And diary the Weston Daybooks are. Or perhaps proto-blog. I realize now that my blog, with all its fits and starts, rambles, and musings about photo technique, my kids, and photographic philosophy is really an electronic daybook.
Of course, we ate the radishes!