The RIP of others. Two three today. There are few weeks that pass without a death of the world of meanings.

When younger, I didn’t note the passings of most of my field. Maybe because I was raised on independence. Perhaps because by 22 I’d knew the smell of cordite, skin, blood. Whatever mixture makes real actions, until the past decade, death was final as well as paper.

burial camps: you honor yourself in the way you honor them. The self you never had they are yourself they took the path you never took a live the life that you read about 

the thing they share: they work in black.

George Tice: [‘Bard of New Jersey’ With a Camera, Dies at 86] I knew of his work without following his life. His is work that meanders into or across my ready understanding. It can add. Maybe it will, although I doubt it since my work, world of workers is quite full. My ideas run over.

The others: two from the camp of others, those whose images didn’t cross over my middle or current table. They would have held me as a young imagination, just not for long. They took similar paths, maybe, but they certainly have similar followers. Often death is the marker of similarities.

• A tribute to John Blakemore (1936-2025) https://www.1854.photography/2025/02/tribute-john-blakemore/
• Caponigro: https://www.pressherald.com/2024/11/24/photographer-paul-caponigro-known-for-the-spirituality-of-his-work-died-this-month-in-cushing/

Too often death marks our life with our absences, lacks, short falls. Reviewing a life provides stimulus to consider ours. Who do we live among. What is your relationship with photography. Do you have a constructive, nurturing system?

How much is enough?