September 30, Oregon.
The sun came slanting through the trees and illuminated the soybean field with an exhilarating glow. The kind of light that makes you want to immerse yourself in it, delve in its warmth and beauty. But the pictures I took fell short; the light's magic wouldn't materialize on the image, it remained stubbornly elusive.
Roland Barthes came back to me then: pictures are not reality but translations of it, with many steps in the process filtering the interpretation. In my old trade, photojournalism, the pretense is strongest as images are presented as reality when they are only portrayals - at best interpretation and inspiration, at worst tools of manipulation.
I'm left with a glorious splash of memory.
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