— Doug Nelson

Dragged kicking and screaming into digital photography,
I had thought that digital meant of or pertaining to the fingers.
Before I board a flight, I somehow can’t really believe this heavy thing flies.
Likewise, I can’t get my head around ones and zeroes reflecting and even creating
Light intensities, color and hues.
I cannot see the coding of binaries any more than I can see the internal structure of an aircraft wing.
A megaton airplane really flies, and digital colors are accurate and malleable, my art brokered through Photoshop.

So I have dutifully fed my Kodachomes from Vietnam, Japan, Colonial Williamsburg and European travels
into a scanning machine, that turns the chemical emulsions containing
my light intensities, color and hues into
You guessed it, ones and zeroes.

When I look at pictures of myself,
I began as colors, of hair, eyes, proudly tanned skin, paisley ties and hippy-dippy camera strap,
And now that I am sixty-eight,
The God of us all has moved the saturation slider in His cosmic Photoshop
All the way to the left.
I stand before you in shades of gray.
Now even old women don’t follow me with their eyes.

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