Dad would have turned 83 today, had pancreatic cancer not taken him away in 2018. Here he is at left with his father, William Woods, sometime in the late 1950s.
Happy birthday, Dad. I hope you're flying something cool.
Your Dad was an admirable and thoughtful man. The connection between Bob Woods and his family is unshakable, even through time and destiny.
I wondered a little about that photo. It's got kind of a strange composition: nostalgic and intimate, like something out of Twin Peaks. It took me a while to suss it out: the picture was likely taken with a twin lens reflex box camera. That's the kind that has a big folding viewfinder on the top. A periscope mirror reflects the image to the shutterless top lens, while the bottom lens takes the picture. I had a Brownie camera that did that. I never took pictures with it, I just played obessively with the viewfinder.
The world looks a bit surreal through a TLR camera. You are aware of your own feet as you work out the problem of composition, peering downwards into the glass. You hold the camera low, at belt level, which accounts for the emphasis on the shoes and the floor. Probably unintentional for this shot, very intentional when photographed by an auteur.
I also have something definitive to say about the afterlife of pilots. There is a lot of peculiar romance about when a pilot leaves us. They went into the clouds, and never came out, people say. They'll make reference to Glenn Miller lore, or until recently, Amelia Earhart as good examples. We know the truth is not so sugar-coated.
So, I can describe these things as factual and structural: in reality they are not. Human minds cannot know trans-universal glories firsthand, and the best we can do is to describe them in mundane terms. And here goes:
Your Dad has spent some time now in what we could colloquially describe as The Hangar. Its dimensions are vast, with a dizzying curved roof of marvellous proportions, so large it has its own clouds. One part waiting room, one part staging area, apart from the simple comfort of the place, the main feature of The Hangar is the Key Wall that runs the length of the building. I am not aware that the number of keys has been fully counted. Pilots come up to the wall and select whichever key that pleases them. Your Dad has done this many times, asking: "Have I flown this one yet?" and "Have I been there? I should go!"
Taking a key grants you that airplane. In most cases, "vehicle" is a more appropriate term, since some of these rides can go really high and really fast. Many are recognizable as airplanes, very conventional and mostly contemporary. A few are screwball putt-putt contraptions with propeller-beanie propellers and bubble-generating exhaust. Those are the most fun to fly over the Superbowl. I like to watch the sky at those events, you never know what you might see. I like to watch the sky all the time, now.
4 comments:
Your Dad was an admirable and thoughtful man. The connection between Bob Woods and his family is unshakable, even through time and destiny.
I wondered a little about that photo. It's got kind of a strange composition: nostalgic and intimate, like something out of Twin Peaks. It took me a while to suss it out: the picture was likely taken with a twin lens reflex box camera. That's the kind that has a big folding viewfinder on the top. A periscope mirror reflects the image to the shutterless top lens, while the bottom lens takes the picture. I had a Brownie camera that did that. I never took pictures with it, I just played obessively with the viewfinder.
The world looks a bit surreal through a TLR camera. You are aware of your own feet as you work out the problem of composition, peering downwards into the glass. You hold the camera low, at belt level, which accounts for the emphasis on the shoes and the floor. Probably unintentional for this shot, very intentional when photographed by an auteur.
I also have something definitive to say about the afterlife of pilots. There is a lot of peculiar romance about when a pilot leaves us. They went into the clouds, and never came out, people say. They'll make reference to Glenn Miller lore, or until recently, Amelia Earhart as good examples. We know the truth is not so sugar-coated.
So, I can describe these things as factual and structural: in reality they are not. Human minds cannot know trans-universal glories firsthand, and the best we can do is to describe them in mundane terms. And here goes:
Your Dad has spent some time now in what we could colloquially describe as The Hangar. Its dimensions are vast, with a dizzying curved roof of marvellous proportions, so large it has its own clouds. One part waiting room, one part staging area, apart from the simple comfort of the place, the main feature of The Hangar is the Key Wall that runs the length of the building. I am not aware that the number of keys has been fully counted. Pilots come up to the wall and select whichever key that pleases them. Your Dad has done this many times, asking: "Have I flown this one yet?" and "Have I been there? I should go!"
Taking a key grants you that airplane. In most cases, "vehicle" is a more appropriate term, since some of these rides can go really high and really fast. Many are recognizable as airplanes, very conventional and mostly contemporary. A few are screwball putt-putt contraptions with propeller-beanie propellers and bubble-generating exhaust. Those are the most fun to fly over the Superbowl. I like to watch the sky at those events, you never know what you might see. I like to watch the sky all the time, now.
That's a beautiful vision, Jeff. Thank you.
Thank you, Jeff. That's one of my favourite photos of dad. There's something wonderfully authentic about it.
What a beautiful way to capture and celebrate Robert. I have not seen a photo with him and his father, they look so much alike!
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