If you have landed here, I assume it is by choice after having read one or more of my blog posts. I will assume that you are genuinely curious about an older man’s experience about aging and identity. Perhaps the one thing that most intrigues you is “why?” Why naturism? Why even let other people know about me and my thoughts? Why not just keep a diary under lock and key like a normal person?
My photos are a record, a personal record that portrays my presence on the planet without camouflage. Through the process of taking these photos on a regular basis, I am confronted with the reality of my body. Over time, that reality becomes accepted. There is no way for me to be taller, younger, dark-haired, or more attractive – whatever that might mean. This is who I am and I better get used to it. There are things that I have learned in the process. Eating properly and getting some exercise are first on the list. This is the only body I have, so I may as well take care of it so that I can enjoy to best degree possible, the years that remain to me.
Naturally, there is a story behind my embracing of naturism, a story that goes back almost sixty years ago. My first conscious choice to go without clothing happened a few months after my maternal grandmother died. She had given me three books of poetry and a book by Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet. One spring late afternoon, I had felt overwhelmed with years of abuse and took Gibran’s book into a not-too-distant copse of trees near our acreage near Ottawa. I soon found my clothing on the ground beside me. If you read my autobiography, you’ll learn the whole story.
Since that time, the need to be out of my clothing whenever possible has been problematical. The world is not exactly nudity-friendly.