As my cataracts ripen, and my vision slowly but relentlessly continues to blur (until I get the surgery for lens implants), the effect is sometimes as though my glasses are heavily smudged. I take them off, hoping they may be greasy or dirty, but no, it’s my eyes. This photo comforts me. (Oh wait – does it appear gauzy and hazy to others, as well?)

What an idyllic scene of domestic tranquility. I wonder if the Whites knew how blessed they were. I suspect so -- although it's probable that Junior was averse to finishing his peas. When I was growing up in the Sixties, in an economically challenged family as fractured as it was dysfunctional, studying a tableau such as this would have set me dreaming of being rich, with a doting mother and successful father and a crisp tablecloth and a crystal water pitcher. Maybe that's why now, when the family gather, my habit is to set a lovely table, burden said table with ample amounts of delicious home-cooked dishes, and call everyone to their places, where we enjoy one another's company as much as we do the repast.

There is something ethereal, vermeeresque about this image (I almost wrote painting), the light, the mother's soft graceful pose, the moment of peace caught in the time machine!

Here's the Find A Grave memorial page of https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/88032939/maynard-pressley-white

This includes a brief biography, as well as links to his parents and another brother. Unfortunately, there is no link to his pictured brother Lewis F. White (born 1/6/1895 in Licking Co., OH - died 1/10/1967 in Glendale, CA) to be found on Find A Grave.

I have friends who insist that photography isn't "art." This photo may be the most compelling and visual argument to the contrary that I could imagine. It's a brilliant concept, exquisitely rendered. And it was at a time when there was no instant feedback. I am in awe.