Glenn Hummel Musings

My mother has taught me a great deal. In truth, she made me. For instance, one thing she imparted to me is my love of words. Often the lesson was unintentional and came to fruition long after the lesson ended. Many of these lessons were finally understood while sitting on various pillows on my thera

Hello, I am coming to you from the bottom of a deep hole. Pretty dark down here. To arrive at this juncture has been a long journey of choices, lately not so good ones. The main impetus for the descent was/is paralysis. Rather than work my way up I decided it was easier to not [...]

In Black&White photography the extremes of the deep, fall into, black shadow and the blast of bright, paper white brilliance can only achieve their embracing status when defined by the vast grayness that lies between them. It is how the photographer travels between these extremes, positioning and ha

Photographs we take are often a means of recording and documenting a moment used to reference a larger segment of time. Fine art images play upon the collective information stored within a culture to play out a intended story, though as individuals we have our own unique stored memories that enhance

Work has fallen off so I’ve time to get the garden in summer shape. Found this in my readings. Thanks to ‘eleven eleven’ from last year’s LitCrawl at City Art Gallery. *** Bamboo Speaks Mind moving beneath the soil. Not a kind mind, but lovelier, and tricky, thinking in every direction. And more of

My creative path has always been one based on a conversation with myself concerning the wonderment of experience. Adolescent estrangement, the green of the Pacific Northwest, watching the life energy leave a body, photographs I’ve taken, Teri – all these and more open questions that are not readily,

Loreena McKennitt traveling from Canada to N. Africa following the roots of her muse – the Celts. Her music is wistful, wanting, in a quiet learned sorrowful way, with the soft underbelly of longing. I am pulled in immediately then sent on an introspective solo journey to my center. Seek the dias in

We had a five foot square porch off the back of our second story flat on Hill Street in the Mission which had an exceptional open view to the sky and a very passable view of a section of the city. The incident to be related occurred about eight years into living at this flat. [...]

And so it rains all day. Steady drumming and dripping. Gray, often unable to see across the Strait. Just all day.