Sometimes, the camera is a drag. I felt more aware of it, myself, when Bob Creeley came here a couple of weeks ago. By then most of the Housebook was done. We were taking pictures for a reason, even if unstated. Maybe we'd get another really good one we could add to the pile. I had to interrupt Bob -- or pause. Reach for the camera; keep it on my lap. Be there with him; try not to be distracted. Interruption, however subtle, is part of the act of the taking, it seems. Bob, opposite me at the table, listening to me with attention, could go back to Bolinas, Buffalo -- anywhere, away from me, and write thirty pages about being in my kitchen. Do it at his ease and mine. My taking pictures of Bob was the equivalent of his taking notes while we sat and drank coffee, his yellow pad right there on the table beside the blueberries. Even among good friends, that stop for the machine/camera can be odd.
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