My Analyst Told Me

Twisted/Annie Ross Annabelle Short / Wardell Gray

Mae West/Diane Arbus photographer

My analyst told me that I was…right out of my head.
The way he described it?
He said, I’d be better dead than live.
I didn’t listen to his jive! I knew all along that he was all wrong.
And, I knew that he thought I was crazy! But I’m not!
My analyst told me that I was right out of my head!
He said, I’d need treatment!

But I’m not that easily led!
He said, I was the type that was most inclined…
when out of his sight to be out of my mind!

And he thought I was nuts…no more ifs or ands or buts.
They say as a child, I appeared a little bit wild. With all my crazy ideas.
But I knew what was happening. I knew I was a genius.
What’s so strange when you know that you’re a wizard at three?
I knew that this was meant to be. Now I heard little children were supposed to sleep tight. That’s why I got into the vodka one night. My parents got frantic, didn’t know what to do!
But I saw some crazy scenes before I came to.
Now do you think I was crazy?
I may have been only three but I was swinging. They all laugh at angry young men. They all laugh at Edison. And also at Einstein.
So why should I feel sorry, If they just couldn’t understand?
The idiomatic logic that went on in my head.
I had a brain…it was insane.
Oh, they used to laugh at me when I refused to ride on all those double decker buses. All because there was no driver on the top.
My analyst told me that, I was right out of my head.

But I said, dear doctor, I think that it’s you instead.

Because I have got a thing that’s unique and new. To prove it I’ll have the last laugh on you! ‘Cause instead of one head I got two! And you know…two heads are better than one.

Diane Arbus/What I do

Smile Visions

When people smile to themselves in the street, when I see the face of an ugly man or uninteresting woman light up…

I wonder from what visions within those smiles are reflected; from what footlights, what gay and incredible scenes they gleam of glory and triumph.

Girl in Swimming Cap by Diane Arbus

Logan Pearsall Smith


Mother Earth Has Called

The great deceiver?  These platelets of ice…leading me to believe ‘if I’ve stepped there once…I can step there twice!’

In the midst of the fall, hanging vaguely onto drawing myself near to dear.

All I hear is, Mother Earth calling me…

‘I am the the greatest magician of them all.  One will never be able to stand on all that is borrowed.’

on being Black and White


The direct confrontation typical of the environmental portrait sacrifices the candid moment to allow the subjects to comport (behave) themselves.

-Walker Evans

…his restless interrogation of American society ranged far beyond the troubles of the Depression and continued to reverberate long after the 1930s…
-being, Walker Evans

-When I’m ready to make a photograph, I think I quite obviously see in my minds eye something that is not literally there in the true meaning of the word. I’m interested in something which is built up from within, rather than just extracted from without.

-Ansel Adams

-Adam’s relation to nature was both aesthetic and mystical. Throughout his life he worked and lobbied to preserve the wilderness and the great vistas of the American West. 
-on being, Ansel Adams
“You don’t make a photograph just with a camera. You bring to the act of photography all the pictures you have seen, the books you have read, the music you have heard, the people you have loved.”
“A photograph is usually looked at- seldom looked into.”
― Ansel Adams
There seems to also be a great deal of debate between what I like to call…High Definition Technicolor Photography and, simple, Black and White Photography.
Course, many may not know, color photography has been around for over 150 years.  Those of us…who are similar to myself, who maybe self taught and/or had the privilege of parental influence.
Couldn’t ask for better timing with the above statement!  For the simple reason…my father who is a professional photographer prefers to photograph in color.  I, on the other hand, prefer, black and white.
Originally, as a child, I ate black and white up!  Black and white movies, black print, white parchment, black backgrounds…snow white…snow.   With little depth, I believed my attraction to ‘being black and white’ as, an infatuation to former times.
I clung to that belief for many years.  Forcing myself to practice…as my father did, in vivid and overly saturated technicolor.  Brilliant New Hampshire covered bridges spanning a frame.  Grabbing the attention of all who were admirers of that particular form of infrastructure.
As the days wandered into years.  As the simple drugs smoked turned into blotter dropped.  As visits from university security became more and more, frequent.
I have had to adjust.
It is not that black and white can be viewed as superior to the rainbow of colors found on a city-scape.  It is not that there is no gray…within, beings of black and white.
It is simply that black and white pulls, the photographer.  As though, there were a scant canvas, and the artist is pushing the viewer…the reader, to place his or her own feelings into the scenery.  To put it simply, black and white photography encourages the viewer to ‘fill in the blanks’.
Fifteen plus years ago, I had chance to sit, mouth open, at the Met.  I sat…for what seemed hours.  I sat with mouth slightly ajar and eyes pried open.
I sat…being heavily influenced by Diane Arbus-
masked child with doll diane arbus
What had I just seen?  What was angering me?  And, mostly, what is it about the photo…that had been making me grin from the inside out?
This is where I became a permanent member of ‘beings of black and white’!  I live, love and remain artful…via, being a black and white person.  To say, that the gray is hidden behind some prop found within the picture…would be a lie.  My life does indeed dabble in primary colors.  Yet, my courage, the beauty of my soul, believes; I am a black and white photograph.  I can see the stormy sky above as being an onyx, infinite being.  I can witness the moon’s hue on the freshly fallen white snow…as…a possible chalky path in which I may not pass.
But what I cannot see, and what I will search for…my entire life?  Are the, not obvious, colors which will make me cry.  And,  what is not seen visually…that I can manipulate in my mind.  Perhaps, the stars, the sodden footpaths, the shadow of a raven.   Black and white beings, hold on to what is not there!  They are similar to High Definition beings in one respect.  They are forever searching for balance.
 There are dissimilar in one distinct way:
Black and white photography demands the viewer to look at what is before them.  Yet, black and white photography, also stirs the viewer to look into what they are seeing.  To let the photograph be an infinitely changing being…dependent on how one is feeling for the day!

Black and white beings see, what it is, what it was and what they would like IT to be!

Use your Art

RandomwordbyRuth... Rental Approved
Rental Approved

What does it mean to you?

‘Oh, I don’t know…maybe it’s about a woman who lost her mother in a house fire or…a young teen confused over their sexual identity…’

What does it mean to you?

‘It could be anything. It could be a good day at the beach. It could have been the way I felt when my partner attempted to take her life…guess I’m not sure. It means a lot to me…though. I know that with certainty! I suppose it has too many meanings to me! That’s why I can’t stop looking. Stop wondering and imagining…how things could have been.’

What does it mean to you?

‘It means anything you want it to. It means that I feel free. It means I feel hot….like how one feels lying on a dry desert like beach. Watching the gray waves over take the world. At least, the world that surrounds the beholder. I suppose it feels like that…and when I think of having to live somewhere like…Montana!’

What does it say? At least…to you?

‘My partner told me the poem is about Mother Nature. I think the poet had been thinking about growing up poor. How a set of stairs in one house may seem like they are built of diamonds…but where the writer lived…the stairs were more akin to fraying shag carpeting. The kind of rug you find in apartment buildings that were built-in the 1960’s. To me the poem speaks to the way it felt to be one my own. And, that very first apartment I lived in. It smelled of cat piss and there had been wall to wall shag carpeting in the bathroom. The bathroom with the kind of shower stall you find in campground restrooms. So, I guess, it takes me back to a time where there had been a feeling of being vulnerable it a good scary way…’

What of art? Where has it taken us? What has it done for us? And, more importantly, where does it take us from here?

Diane Arbus…the patriot

To me, quite simply…it takes me back to a memory. I had seen my very first Diane Arbus photo. There had been an exhibit at the Met or Boston Museum or some little movie or something like that. Immediately…I felt I had found home. I had come face to face with what I had been meant to do. Which of course…had been writing.

Diane Arbus hadn’t been a poet or novelist. She took photos of Freaks. For she felt a bit of freak herself. Sitting behind the shadow of her husband’s art. She found comfort with those who society had brushed under the rug. Her pictures were so heart-felt. So telling. Telling of someone’s struggles and rebirth. Their heartaches and scars. A large group of individuals whose story had been told by a housewife. Therefore, by proxy, Diane had been distracting-ly abnormal herself.

It was then that I found meaning to art and to artists themselves. They are the forever searchers of things, thoughts, feelings that can be painted or put into a sentence…but come out the other side with no meaning what so ever…Other than what it means to the audience.

art 2
RandomwordbyRuth…Room 4 4

Night falls us all

nothing but collective souls

at a broken bar…

nothing but pure wickedness

dashed about like a shoe-less car.

Since the dark ages we’ve been coming here.

Only one solution ever…

it is art…I fear.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.