By OM MALIK
As someone who lives in the grays, I immensely appreciate a cold rainy weekend in San Francisco. This morning, I made myself a nice cup of tea and sat down on the writing table with my iPad, hoping to spend time reading some articles and catching up on books that have slowly started to pile up on the bed-stand. For some odd reason, I began to look at some of my older photos. I had edited them over the past twelve months.
As I flipped through the gigantic photoshop files, it felt as if I was looking at the work of someone else. I felt assaulted by the colors — even though I had stripped out the extraneous as much as I could. It is not as if I don’t enjoy a beautiful sunset or a glorious sunrise. It is not that I don’t enjoy the pinks, mauve, and gentle oranges over the breaking waves of the Pacific. However, when it comes to the visual interpretation of these same landscapes, I can’t help wrinkling my proverbial nose as if the color was a piece of rotting vegetation?
How did I end up here? Why? I often ask myself.
I always enjoy Om’s musings. Whether the topic is writing about the technical machinery that seems to be cranking full speed in his neck of the prairie…or photography…he’s just about always addressing something of interest to me.
I’m not the dedicated photographer I have been in decades past; but, my interest has never waned. Om’s style and commentary always finds the heart of whatever values he examines.