Pixels

The deeper I delve into Photoshop CS2 the more I understand about the universe. I am very fortunate to have such an opportunity to really get into the possibilities of Photoshop (and Sketchup and AutoCAD to a lesser extent) and you of course, as a reader of cullaholmes.blogspot.com, are indeed lucky as well. Lucky indeed to receive the ripened grain gleaned from my teeming mind. Anyhoo, one thing I have come to understand as I wrestle with comprehension of this tool is that the greatest chunk of what is presented to us visually in terms of information regarding the greater world outside our physical communities is truly and in fact merely complex composites of pixels in intricate and sophisticated arrangements. You understand the metadata as your brain comprehends whatever image, but this understanding changes as the image itself changes, and once the image is digital, once it is extracted and stands independent of whatever truth produced it, your understanding changes as the image changes, and the image changes as the pixels change. Photoshop lets you get down in there with the pixels. Control the pixels, and you control the universe. Take any image, open it in photoshop, and there you are with about five billion different things you can do with those pixels. When you get down in there with the pixels and start making them jump, it’s quite a thrill. But the bigger thrill comes when you have spent a good deal of time with the pixels (say forty-eight hours with a couple thousand or so pixles) and you decide to start listening to them, to follow their lead. Just like in landscaping, as Alexander Pope said, “consult the genius of the place in all.” Great artists always work within the matrix of nature and the medium and the possibilities offered therein. I get in the zone with those pixels and start asking them what they want to do and then the real magic starts to happen.

Here we have an image of a young man, he seems to be about seventeen years of age. He is earnestly at work at his typewriter, and despite the fact that his shirt and face have for the most part been lost in the exposure, his demeanor of calm concentration beams through. The fact that he is working on a typewriter dates the image to, oh, 1983 or so. Upon closer inspection the observer might observe with a note of astonishment that this schoolboy is wearing some unusual pants. Are they leather pants? Black leather pants? Where did this image come from? Who is this dude? It hardly matters. Or does it. Watch the pixels. Listen closely. Take my hand. Be not afraid. You ready? I don’t care. Let’s do the Watusi. Go Rimbaud, oh go Johnny go.