Carl Lindquist appreciated the good things; a well-made camera, the light at dusk, a cold beer, a swirl of kelp in a tidepool. Johnny Cash and Ansel Adams. Sweet and sour pork. Most of all he loved being with family; with brothers and mothers and daughters and sons. There he was comfortable. Where a private man could relax and be himself. There was always a little bit of the boy still inside him, when you'd see him light up hearing a good yarn about the family. That's why he loved joking around with his brothers. Tore would slip a floor tile in Carl's car and accuse him of stealing building materials. Lindy would back up Tore. Then they'd launch into the story of how Tore almost accidentally hung himself in the big tree behind the house by getting his necktie caught in a branch. And around and around the stories would go.
Friendly and outgoing to strangers, Carl's family sometimes felt apart from his inner workings. But he was always fair. He wasn't much into self-analysis. What you DID was what counted. His usual way of hearing you out would end with him cheerfully telling you to buck up. At the same time he respected your need to grow up without a parent in your face all the time. He let you work things out. He'd ask how something turned out, and if you said "OK", he'd say "Fine". And he wouldn't bring it up again.
He said he was a simple man. He wanted simplicity. And systems. "You must have a system", he'd say. He never swore. Actually, he did. One time he was driving; I was beside him. Some guy plowed into us and crushed the side of the car in. He said "Shit!. Are you OK?" I was shocked. He'd said a bad word.
He was perfectly groomed, a meticulous dresser. A master photographer. And a good man. We miss him. Mark - 9/16/09
CARL LINDQUIST PHOTOGRAPHY © 2009