Tuesday, March 26, 2013




Recently I have indulged in a four-day evening watch of the four Dirty Harry films from a complete set I purchased for five dollars at a DVD bin in the Great Canadian Superstore.

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.