Every Moment is Different

The question often presents itself in photography: what does this composition, this image, add to the body of work that already exists about this place? There are many legitimate answers to this question, including:

1. Nothing;
2. I don't know yet, but I don't feel like I have ever seen or felt anything like this before;
3. I'm here to experience it; the image is incidental; and/or
4. Everything, because every moment is different, and this one right here right now, has only been experienced by me, and it doesn't matter how many people are here with me.

In some locations it can be difficult to overcome the feeling of #1. Who hasn't said to themself: "this won't be as good as the gazillions of images already on social media"? But if you get trapped in that prison you might as well pack up and go home. That last one of course, is permission to indulge one's own creative process. But one doesn't need permission. It is always the artists's prerogative to make his or her own art, regardless of what's been done before or may come after. ##2 and 3 are where I like to live. I go to a place, first and foremost, to experience it. Recording it is secondary, and I often don't know what emotions I hope to capture. And sometimes I don't know for months or even years.

In this instance, the unusual lenticular clouds gave their own reason to have a camera at hand. [I say "unusual," but in reality, lenticular clouds happen all the time. It's just that not everyone sees them.] While I sat and watched them spinning and forming, they reminded me of cotton candy, and being young again