I have on a document page stored in a box deep within my computer files a list of definitions of CONTRAST. I was going to write one of my brief exquisite essays on contrasts. The memory of the openly practiced “Jim Crow” days in the South, and the contrast with today’s silent and hidden segregation everywhere. I could write about happier contrasts – like the life of my Pappy – Ashley’s Dad – who was born in 1912 and died at the age of 97 in 2009. He saw the beginning of flight and he saw men walk on the moon. He remembers the automobiles you cranked up to start, and was around when electric cars were more and more on the road. His life was filled with social contrasts as well. Living as a missionary in China, serving as a college president of a traditionally black college in Augusta, Georgia during the most tumultuous years of the civil rights era.
I could go on, but I won’t. I’ve decided to share with you a different sort of contrast – an “artistic” one, if you will: chiaroscuro.
If you are not familiar with the term, it means, roughly, an effect of contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on something.
The something in this case is Justin. Back in the days before I got my DSLR camera, Ashley called me into one of our upstairs bedrooms and pointed out Justin, sleeping in the light coming through the window behind the cedar chest where he loves to lie in the sun. I got out his “point and shoot” camera and took some photos of our “chiaroscuro cat.”
You will see that the last photo I include is not a chiaroscuro anything, but Princess, who walked into the room when I did, certain she was going to be denied the attention she wanted and which I was now giving to the cat.
Herewith some photos of Justin, resting in “contrasted light and shadow created by light falling unevenly or from a particular direction on
That’s it for contrast, for me, anyway. Princess insisted since she only had one photo, it had to be the biggest. My Gentle Readers, I wish you all enough. . .