In the last film, Magnum Force Clint Eastwood has been brutally beaten up. He manages to survive it and goes into his hotel room where from a drawer he takes out a beautifully finished wooden case from which he removes a 44 Magnum AMP Auto Mag Model 180. He lifts the gun and you immediately know that with its power revenge and redemption are at hand.
As a little boy my frequent transgressions were defended by my grandmother. She who would tell anybody around that we were both artists and that factor had to be considered.
While I shared a love, friendship and understanding with my grandmother I never really accepted that artist thing until now.
At age 70 when one’s concept of utility (am I useful to anybody?) comes into question daily I keep this black metal case where I can neatly store three Nikons FM-2 with an assortment of lenses, from a fisheye to a 135mm telephoto, a Minolta Flashmeter and boxes of film. It is in my living room reminding me in a Dirty Harry type of comfort that they prove that I am an artist and by using them my redemption, my usefulness is at hand.
The idea that a man at age 70 is retired is anathema to me. I will not golf nor do I have the cash to do Machu Picchu or traverse the Panama Canal in a cruise ship with fellow golden-age retirees. But I can sometimes feel morose and I tell myself that I am WTD (waiting to die). The black case in the living room is a constant reminder that there is an opening of hope around the corner in the sound of a camera click.