During the search for images to accompany my post about Delamer Duverus and my week at The University of Missouri Photojournalism Workshop in 1977, I stumbled on a photograph that (again) I have no memory of shooting. And in that this image feels so unlike what my memory tells me about a few moments 35 years ago that I wonder who was that guy with the camera?
I do remember not paying much attention to the rules of photography, flailing about and going more with gut instincts. I look at this image and it feels like something from a fluttering dream or the murky link to a photo from the dustbowl years that must have crossed my path at some point.
Yet I look at it over and over and never tire of the inherent magic of the medium.