The short poem "A View with a Grain of Sand" by the Polish poet Wislawa Szymboska affected my personal and world outlook. I read the poem in the 9th grade during a poetry section of English class. I had to read it several times for the full effect - once to appreciate the fluidity and beauty of the writing and a second time to contemplate the meaning and implications of the words. While I'd always understood that reality is different for each individual and can vary over time, I'd never seen it quite so eloquently described. I'd never really thought about the concept of 'reality' too much before that. I don't actively think about it a whole lot now either, but when I do it's fascinating. I love the idea that everyone's reality is different. Everyone experiences the world in a different way. I think this relates to my interest in photography. A photograph is an attempt to capture an image of your own reality to share with others.
View with a Grain of Sand
Wislawa Szymboska
We call it a grain of sand,
but it calls itself neither grain nor sand.
It does just fine, without a name,
whether general, particular,
permanent, passing,
incorrect, or apt.
Our glance, our touch means nothing to it.
It doesn't feel itself seen and touched.
And that it fell on the windowsill
is only our experience, not its.
For it, it is not different from falling on anything else
with no assurance that it has finished falling
or that it is falling still.
The window has a wonderful view of a lake,
but the view doesn't view itself.
It exists in this world
colorless, shapeless,
soundless, odorless, and painless.
The lake's floor exists floorlessly,
and its shore exists shorelessly.
The water feels itself neither wet nor dry
and its waves to themselves are neither singular nor plural.
They splash deaf to their own noise
on pebbles neither large nor small.
And all this beheath a sky by nature skyless
in which the sun sets without setting at all
and hides without hiding behind an unminding cloud.
The wind ruffles it, its only reason being
that it blows.
A second passes.
A second second.
A third.
But they're three seconds only for us.
Time has passed like courier with urgent news.
But that's just our simile.
The character is invented, his haste is make believe,
his news inhuman.
but it calls itself neither grain nor sand.
It does just fine, without a name,
whether general, particular,
permanent, passing,
incorrect, or apt.
Our glance, our touch means nothing to it.
It doesn't feel itself seen and touched.
And that it fell on the windowsill
is only our experience, not its.
For it, it is not different from falling on anything else
with no assurance that it has finished falling
or that it is falling still.
The window has a wonderful view of a lake,
but the view doesn't view itself.
It exists in this world
colorless, shapeless,
soundless, odorless, and painless.
The lake's floor exists floorlessly,
and its shore exists shorelessly.
The water feels itself neither wet nor dry
and its waves to themselves are neither singular nor plural.
They splash deaf to their own noise
on pebbles neither large nor small.
And all this beheath a sky by nature skyless
in which the sun sets without setting at all
and hides without hiding behind an unminding cloud.
The wind ruffles it, its only reason being
that it blows.
A second passes.
A second second.
A third.
But they're three seconds only for us.
Time has passed like courier with urgent news.
But that's just our simile.
The character is invented, his haste is make believe,
his news inhuman.
Part B.
My art awareness is fairly limited. In viewing other photographers' work, I'm most often attracted to portraits.I find myself drawn to the works of photographers such as Richard Avedon, David Bailey, and Paul Strand. However, I myself have made very few attempts at portraits of people. A significant portion of my previous photos have been 'portraits' of domestic animals. I love taking these photos of animals, but I would also really enjoy the chance to try my hand at photographing more people.
David Bailey
Paul Strand 
Of the above mentioned photographers, I especially love the work of Avedon. His photos seem to have a weight, they strike me as solid, and there is a sense of depth even if the image does not necessarily contain spacial depth. In one of my few tries at making portraits of people, I have tried to emulate the lighting effects and the simplistic setup I see in his work.
[Images to be uploaded later]
Part C.
The essence of photography is the capturing of a moment.
It creates a static memento of something that existed at some point in time in one person's reality. In my opinion, it is highly unlikely that a particular moment will ever exist again; or in the off-chance that it does exist again, a person will never be able to capture it in the same manner twice. Even two simultaneous photos of the exact same moment will not turn out the same. And I would go so far as to say that a resulting photo of a moment may not match up exactly with how the person responsible for the photograph experienced/viewed the moment. But that is not to say that the moment did not exist. I think a photograph is defined as a static representation of a dynamic existence. It is a way in which one person can attempt to share their version of reality with others.
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