Offering my eyes to their beauty, these trees sing to me. Each one is different with a performance unique to the instrument it has grown, creating visual music.
Crape myrtles are a ubiquitous tree whose smooth bark turns vibrant red when wet. For many months, I organized my daily early morning bicycle ride so as to tour the most choice crepe myrtles across the town to observe how weather and season shifted both my day’s perceptions and the trees. Sometimes, having been arrested by the song of a particular tree that morning, I would treat my eyes to its beauty from all sides, maybe kneeling, maybe standing, maybe laying on the ground looking up. We had a fine time together. Calculating the weather forecasts and receiving permissions form the property owners, I then picked a day and informed the police department of my whereabouts because photographing these trees required substantial road and sidewalk clearance. With supporting equipment of the van with a roof-rack, a large generator to power big strobe lights, and gallons of water ready with a sprayer, I would spend days with each tree to compose and conduct our sonata always employing Caravaggio side light so each one became a sculpture. I feel privileged to construct a crescendo that becomes an encore to the first melody they offered.