Spring is springing here in Madison, which means sunlight and color are returning to our world again. The grass isn’t green just yet, but we know it’s coming. It wasn’t a particularly difficult winter, but I can tell that our spirits have been brighter as we emerge from this latest hibernation. It feels good.

I woke up today with tons of energy and spent some time looking at Bill Armstrong’s book, All A Blur: Photographs from the Infinity Series, this morning. I have been following Bill’s work for years, and I suspect some of you are familiar with his photography. His blurry pictures are a welcome reprieve from so much high—definition imagery. I’ve written about “slow looking” before, and seeing with patience isn’t always easy.

Much of the time, we expect photography to teach us something about the world. The camera describes what it sees with precision and accuracy, even if it occasionally lies. But sometimes clarity is overrated, and it’s encouraging to remember that photography can do more than document. Staring into Bill’s abstracted color fields is calming and meditative. Here’s how he describes his work:

My unique process of appropriating images and subjecting them to a series of manipulations—photocopying, cutting, painting, re-photographing—transforms the originals and gives them a new meaning in a new context. Extreme blurring makes the edges within the collages disappear, so the photographs appear to be seamless, integrated images.

This sleight of hand allows me to conjure a mysterious tromp l'oeil world that hovers between the real and the fantastic. It is a world just beyond our grasp, where place may be suggested, but is never defined, and where the identity of the amorphous figures remains in question. It is a world that might exist in memory, in dreams, or, perhaps, in a parallel universe yet unvisited.

The nature of visual perception intrigues me: how the eye continually tries to resolve these images, but is unable to do so, and how that is unsettling. And I am drawn to the idea that we can believe something is real while knowing it is illusory; that the experience of visual confusion, when the psyche is momentarily derailed, is what frees us to respond emotionally.

If all of this sounds intriguing, you should really explore Bill’s work. All a Blur is a beautiful printed doorstop of a book, featuring more than 300 images across as many pages. It is an epic work that begs repeat readings.

You see more of Bill’s photography here and on the CLAMP website. Finally, if you’re on Instagram, you can follow Bill @billarmstrongphoto. I know he’ll appreciate the audience.

I hope you are well today, friends. Take care of yourselves, and have a great week!

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