In Search of Angels

We knew no bounds
of social or religious etiquette.
Fueled by a right brained
fanatacism for
capturing the spirit
or ethereal essence
of those unkown
and past
on film.
Armed with Hasselblad, 4x5 view camera,
Holga toy camera,
tripods, backdrops
and perhaps a bottle of wine
and sandwiches
if remembered.
Roseland Cemetery, Bohemian National Cemetery, Rosehill Cemetery
 were all destinations
 depending on light.
The holy grail
was always
 our beloved angels.
Each subject
in some way
raveged by Chicago winds and winters,
moss, cracks, and the general
deterioration of
all things associated
with the dead or abandoned.
During early morning first light
the Mexican groundskeepers,
waiting for grasses to dry
to begin an
  endless day of  lawn mowing and trimming,
leaning up against the masuoleum wall
and watching with
either curiosity
or disdain.
At times, stopped by security and asked,
"What are you doing here?"
We acclimated to working
like hypervigilant voyeurs
as we became lost in the maze of rows or
 small roads between monuments and sculpture
available in no other earthly venue
known to us.
Running wildy ecstactic
like an ADHD child unmedicated-too many possibilities for
art to remain static.
Clicking away and changing 120 film in
a continuous but fluid frenzied motion.
When done and after days of developing and printing
always returning to the city
to continue the quest for
a more beautiful subject.
In retrospect
I wonder how much of our souls
were traded and remain
amongst the stones and
large dark oaks and maples
of a hundred years
in fair return for
K. Carter