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Curtis Hendricks

DamnPhotoArtist

Photo Art* & Small Literature**
* Computer-based art that uses a photograph as a base
** Short Prose

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Harmony

7/23/2019

2 Comments

 
Picture
It’s not Spring allergies, it’s the Summer ones. Those ones slay me. All the blooms and pollen in April-May-June, I’m fine. It’s when the heat and especially the humidity kick into torture mode in July-August that I want to curl up into an air-conditioned corner and go comatose. I don’t know; mold, grasses, I don’t know. The over-the-counter allergy meds I’ve used, sure, they work in so far as they alleviate symptoms and make me feel better. They also alleviate any motivation I might have once entertained to function like a human being. I’ll drop one 24-hour pill only when absolutely necessary and count on two days gone from anything resembling active human behavior, productivity or, as I’ve been accused, civility.

A buddy this week floated a scientific article (DO follow the link - it's a pretty good article​) which suggests the reason Midwest Summers are so repressive is because the eighteen-quazillion acres of corn maturing across a dozen-plus states at this moment produce something called “corn sweat”. A guy with the U.S. Department of Agriculture says plants shed water, sucked up through their roots, when it gets too hot, that “sweat” then evaporating into the already humid bubble of air surrounding us, making for an even more humid-ass bubble of air.

I gotta believe, having been filtered through the corn stalk, that water ain’t just water anymore, and what evaporates into the air ain’t just nitrogen and oxygen. It’s an allergen, spores, and mold infested soup genetically designed by a vengeful God to be sucked into my brain where it metamorphizes into tiny bugs that begin digesting my corpuscles from the inside out. (NOTE: This is just me being me, theoretically logically projecting a hypothesis into an arena I know nothing about).

The article suggests a field of corn will raise the dew point by 5 degrees. An acre of corn will sweat 4,000 gallons of Me-destroying soup for evaporation every day, multiplied by the eighteen-quazillion acres in cultivation as we speak.

Each year, about this time, I reach a period in which I look upon the chores throughout the house, the projects waiting on my desk, and shrug and go watch TV instead. These are my White-Trash Days.

2 Comments
H link
7/23/2019 07:28:12 am

Not just water indeed, add all the chemicals poured on top - a Roundup aerosol

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Russell Jackson
7/23/2019 07:44:22 am

I am a corpulent fellow who, when placed in Missouri’s weather, sweats profusely. I’d like to propose a corollary to the corn sweat hypothesis. Missouri is full of corpulent people; one need only view one’s local Wal-Martians to establish this point.

I propose that all of these fat people standing in parking lots across the state produce flop sweat, which further raises the level of humidity in the air. If true, our legislature should consider a bill to confine corpulent Missourians to air conditioned spaces between May and October.

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    Curtis Hendricks

    All my life I have had to learn to do things differently. To see the world differently.

    Art attracted me from the beginning. Almost every home in the tiny farming village where I grew up had DaVinci’s ‘Last Supper’ on the wall. I would come across modern abstract art in magazines and be absolutely fascinated by the colors and techniques.

    But there were no artists in my village. No one understood what modern art was. Or why it was. But there was an appreciation for photography.

    I began shooting with a 1960 model Agfa rangefinder fixed-lens 35mm camera and learned to use darkroom techniques to finish my work. Graduating to a single lens reflex camera I worked primarily with Kodachrome. Digital photography opened a new world. The computer became the artboard I never had; the darkroom I could never afford. I discovered there would never be a camera or a lens that could capture what I saw in my head – that, I had to learn to create on my own.

    I use the photograph the same way a painter uses a charcoal sketch – as a starting place. I squeeze out the unseen hiding between the pixels; the angels, the demons of my own imagination.

    ​Light. Color. Darkness. Perspective. Introversion. Mystery. Love.

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