Of all the big bubble blowers in Central Park, the one above is my favorite. His bubbles are the best. The biggest, the most creative, the most fun.
He has no schedule to exhibit his talents, no set days or places or times. You never know when or exactly where he’ll appear. But late afternoon is when I usually find him. After he sets up (his bubble mixture is his own secret), he adjusts his iPod earplugs, swooshes his sticks in the soapy bucket, raises his arms high and working with the wind creates bubbles that expand and separate and multiply and soar and catch the light and mesmerize us.
Never wavering, his concentration on his bubbles is zen-like.
It doesn’t matter how cold it is in winter. He comes anyway. The number of onlookers he attracts also doesn’t matter. He would, he said, blow his bubbles even if no one came.
The original unaltered photograph of this image shot last Autumn was perfectly decent. But wanting more drama in tune with the dramatic subject and to distinguish it from so many mundane Autumn photos, I experimented with image software, playing with color values and texture. The deeper I got into the digital element, the more the process reminded me of painting, when the image transcends its’ beginnings and takes on an improvisational life of its own.
A lot of drawing and handwork was involved, perhaps tipping the balance more to the art side of photo-art. Making it instead more art-photo. The end result captured his essence I think. Behold – the master in his zone.
More Bodacious Bubbles: