I decided this morning to take some photos of Henny Penny Palin’s one egg. I figured that this would be easy. Plus, I’m a woman with big ideas. There were, it seemed, hundreds of photo opportunities.
I put the egg itself in a variety of settings and began shooting away. I next took photos of the egg in the pewter syrup container. And then I next took photos of the egg next to a feather. I next took photos of the egg next to a mash potato beater. I next took photos of the egg on the Chicken Book. I next took photos of the egg on a kitchen stair. It rolled off, and so I took photos of the egg, broken, next to the stairs. I next took photos of the shells, in various places.
Between taking photos, I played with the shutter speed, aperture, and ISO settings. I finally called it good because I had other things to do, including writing this dispatch. When done, I sat down on the stairs and took a closer look at my images. Ugh. Most were fuzzy. I did take two or three photos that are in focus.
I used to have students carry eggs around for a week, and do a series of writing assignments. I now understand that I was asking too much of them, for this was a very difficult task. The problem is that this alludes to the fact that possibilities of what one might write about are endless. This might be because the egg is the source of life.
I got overwhelmed in my attempt to get one egg image. I knew that I could keep going, being attentive to all things egg-related, including light and dark. But I finally called it good, reminding myself that I had other things to do. The question that remains is what if I could not stop, and simply kept taking photos? This thought is disconcerting.
Next: 94. 3/12/12: Friends Visit