I doubt that I am alone in sometimes making photographs which I know to be good, but which I don't much like, or at least, not yet. I know enough now to see this as a good sign -- my eyes have seen something through the camera that I can't yet recognise as "mine", which means I'm still learning. That orange on those steps, for example, and that stray bottle... It was the price I had to pay for the barrier tape, the vast propeller, and the knotted curtain. Not so long ago, I might have said "No, thanks," and moved on (or cropped the image square), but this week I didn't.
Or this open window, like an Advent calendar, reflecting a nearly blank sky in its upturned glass. I really just wanted the reflected trees in the tinted windows, but had to accept that blank to get the shot. Perhaps I'm almost ready to accept that overexposure is not always a sin against photography. Oh, and the bicycle handlebar, too.
Similarly these spindly shrubs, teetering on the brink of overexposure, seem to work as a sort of balletic stage set, pushing the original intended subject (the subtly greenish tones of the fence and wall, and that graphic slash of blue cable) usefully into the background. After years of simplifying, getting closer, cutting things out of the frame, I've started pulling back, letting things breathe in a wider, more inclusive frame. I'm not sure why, but I find that I keep doing it.
Who knows where this is going, or whether I'll like it when I get there? I'll let you know.