The weasel

I have a couple of ideas about how I can move forward with this image. But, even if none of them pan out, this photograph is a nice record of a majestic tree. Another kind of imprint for me, trees. And, after the disturbing piece of short fiction I read last night before bed, I really needed to spend time with a stolid photograph like this to begin my day on the right path. It was a short story by Wallace Stegner, the one in which a boy traps a live gopher and feeds it to a weasel. The weasel's name was Lucifer. I don't particularly want to begin a day of making art with the image of Lucifer eating a live gopher in my head. A daily practice of reflection can be an effective way to banish the demons and get to work.  

Composition acquisition syndrome

Most photographers are familiar with GAS, gear acquisition syndrome. But have you ever heard of HAS? That would be house acquisition syndrome. My wife and I fall under the spell of HAS from time to time. Fortunately, we don't have hundreds of thousand of dollars hidden under the cushions of our sofa, and that is what ultimately saves us. But it is still super interesting to see what is out there. Sometimes, you find some real hidden gems. And, who knows, one day we might come across something special enough to get us to leave our groovy home. In the meantime, visiting these properties can lead to some pretty interesting photographic opportunities. You see, I also suffer from CAS, composition acquisition syndrome, but thankfully, that is a much more sustainable condition.

 

The photographs we leave behind

I was listening to a podcast about film photography yesterday. I'm pretty sure the show's creators are at least a couple of decades younger than I am, so I was rather interested in the topic of the day: photographic legacy. Their take away message was that pictures of family and friends have more legacy value than your 'art'. Bollocks, says I. Both matter. Keep doing both. My parents have both passed on, and I can tell you that I am just as interested in the rather few 'arty' shots they left behind as I am in the plethora of family snapshots. Both sets of images are treasured possessions. It is also interesting whenever you unearth photographs made by your parents that were taken before they knew each other. Like photographs my mom made on an extended trip to Japan before she married my dad. I liked thinking about how she framed up her image of Mt. Fuji. She had an artist's eye, that is for sure. That is something about my mom that I definitely want to know about. And, there are plenty of family photos that I have culled over the years, like the ones with friends and acquaintances a few generations removed. Uncle Dingsbums's high school yearbook picture. Out you go! Family photos will remind folks of what you looked like and where you lived, things like that, while your arty shots will help them understand how you thought about the world. Plus, if you turn out to be the next Vivian Maier, your legacy could boost their fortunes in more tangible ways.

Palette cleansers

When I think of how many conference trips I've made over the course of my working life, I am tempted to question my sanity. Thankfully, in recent years, I've scaled back quite a bit on this kind of travel. That said, conference trips did offer the possibility of making photographs in many new and interesting places, and going out for a photowalk was often a fun way to recover my energy level after hours of enduring a series of monotonous talks. This image was made in Boston during a conference. We simply don't have trees like this here in the Southeast, and the light is very different as well. Photographically, these short jaunts across the country served a bit like visual palette cleansers. I not only enjoyed the stimulation of seeing new things in different light, but I also returned to my local haunts with fresh eyes.

Broadway and Bleecker - photographic imprints

It can be fun to go through your old photos to get an idea of what caught your more youthful eye back in the day. One of the things that struck me about New York City the first time I visited was the urban canyons that could be found by wandering around the back alleys downtown. Places that at ground level almost never saw the light of day, and where the rats roamed free. Places with their own microclimate. The Blade Runner aesthetic, if you will. Even after several decades, I still enjoy looking at this image. It's one of my photographic imprints of NYC, I guess. I wouldn't mind trying to re-shoot this image on my next trip back even though I'm not sure whether these back alleyways are still open to the public. 

Enjoy the upcoming weekend, and I hope your light is cinematic, whatever that means to you.

Abstraction | Intention

It was certainly a mundane scene, nothing at all special. I was just walking through a wood shop when I noticed what I thought would be an interesting abstract composition. So I made a few photographs. Just that. Hunting for compositions and interesting designs within my frame is just one of the most enjoyable aspects of photography. For me, anyway. So, I keep on taking them and storing them away on my hard drives. Sometimes they get used in other work, and sometimes they just sit on the drive, their bits slowly decaying through entropy, sort of like Maier's unexposed rolls, I suppose. If they are discovered after I'm gone, will the fact that they are intentional photographs be clear to the finder? I should probably go back and delete the worst of them...

Screens

I just read that photographer Harry Gruyaert turned 80 recently. I’ve always enjoyed his work in a general sense, and I have a couple of his published books here in the studio. As a side note, it is a real pleasure to be surrounded by my pile of photo books (I hesitate to call it a collection). The thing with photo books though is that many choices about presentation are outside of one's control. We’ll just leave it at that for now. Fortunately, thanks to Magnum’s annual print sale, I can afford to own a couple of Gruyaert prints. They are small, certainly, but I can view the photographs the way I want.

Overall, I think the body of work that resonates the most with me is the TV series from the 1970s. All photographers respond to their cultural milieu and most of us have probably engaged photographically with the little and big screens that have come to dominate our lives. It’s hard to believe that the long slouch toward Bethlehem started over 50 years ago.

Have you ever made photographs while watching TV, or better, a film in a theater?

Tourist shots, memory, and the Olympus EPL2

You probably can't tell from anything in this photograph that it was taken in Puerto Rico, but I promise you that it was. Is that a problem? Is it dumb for someone who considers themself to be a serious photographer to make a cliched tourist shot while on vacation? I sure hope not. I captured this scene a decade ago when Instagram had been live for a just a few months. Back then, Flickr was thriving. 

  😃 

On this trip I was using an Olympus EPL2, a camera now long forgotten to history, but actually a pretty decent shooter. Looking back on the files, it was a pretty decent imager, too. 

I may not remember much about this beach, but I certainly remember the vacation well enough. My son had just turned 13. Perhaps there is symbolism here after all.

                                                                            😃 

Text in photos

I'm not sure how I feel about including text in photographs, especially those images that tend toward the more abstract. My tendency is to respond to the graphical aspects and overall composition within the frame, but I think viewers often try to find words, thoughts, or concepts embedded in an image that contains text. Problem is, they sometimes find things you didn't even notice. Don't ask me how I know this. Recently, I saw a show with some work from the 1980s. One of the pieces was comprised entirely of text in neon. Common turns of phrase of the time. Honestly, the work has not aged that well. What struck me most is that nobody talks like they did in the '80s anymore.

Seeing in the dark

Increasingly, it seems like cameras can actually see in the dark. For example, this image was made at ISO 12800 using a lens with a maximum aperture of f/2.8, handheld. I am pretty sure this would not have been possible with a film camera. I once pushed a roll of Tri-X to 6400 and used stand development to get the most out of the negatives, but the only shots that looked halfway decent were the ones where the metering was spot on. Underexposure can be the kiss of death with film. These days, I tend to grab a digital camera if I go out at night. And I can leave the tripod at home because of another game changing technology: image stabilization. I'm seeing the world in new ways, and isn’t that one of the points?

Studio bat, studio cat

This little fellow is the newest member of the studio. Yup, I rescued a tiny three week old feral kitten who somehow managed to find himself under my vehicle in the carport yesterday morning. Lucky, lucky little fellow. He'd probably not have lasted much longer in the wild. Suburbia was not designed with cats in mind... But he's been cleaned up and is starting to get used to his new environment. I shared the picture with a few friends, one of whom thought he looked like a bat. Kinda sorta I guess. A few years ago, a real bat got inside the studio for about an hour, and, to be honest, that was a much more unpleasant experience. I did not like it that much when it brushed up against my neck as it circled the studio. Thoughts of the shots I would need if it bit me and I got rabies. That was pretty creepy stuff. This little guy, on the other hand, has been deemed healthy by the vet, and should be a dear friend for many years to come.

The horse galloping down Broadway

There is a feral kitten just outside my studio door right now yowling like crazy, and making it hard to concentrate. I've put a small bowl of milk out, hoping it decides to give it a try. Who knows, perhaps we can build trust and there will be a new studio cat around here. Today, I wanted to pair the quotidian shot above, which has grown on me over time, with thoughts about photos not taken or just plain missed over the years. Like the time I was walking down Broadway late one New Year's Eve in New York City, and I heard the loud sounds of a horse galloping. Not at all what I expected that evening. Apparently one of the Central Park carriage horses escaped and was running like hell, both scared out of its mind and tasting freedom for the first time in a long while. I really wish I could have grabbed a photograph of that. Or, maybe it works better as a simple memory?

Here's to a weekend of good light and photo opportunities not missed!

Is a print the end point of the photographic process?

With this image, I had a difficult time settling on the overall tonality. In the end, or rather, for the time being, I decided that I preferred the lower key version presented here. I think the main reason is the increased contrast between the highlights on tree trunks and the dark horizontal mass in the background I was able to achieve.  I am happy enough with the image that I will spend some more time with it and ultimately make a physical print, which is always an arduous (and sometimes $$$) process for me. I might need to do a little more adjusting for a physical print, or take a different approach entirely. For me, a tangible object of some kind is always the end point of my art, in spite of the fact most of my work is only ever experienced in the digital domain.

The Insomniac Show

I had a big cup of coffee in the late afternoon. I wanted to be alert for the evening's rehearsal. Sure enough, I was dog tired after two solid hours of playing the upright bass, including having to sight read the syncopated parts in Hamilton. Safely home and in bed, the coffee was still kind of doing its job, and I was having trouble falling asleep. Light rain was lashing the glass of the bedroom window and then there was the incessant wind. The insane wind. I was in a doom cycle of not falling asleep, so I got up and grabbed my camera which was nearby, like a child's beloved security blanket. The wind was causing dramatic shadows on the bathroom wall, so I took a few frames. I put earplugs in and went back to bed. 

Nifty 50

I like me some fast glass, just as much as the next photographer out there. No doubt about it. But I also really appreciate a compact and lightweight standard lens that just gets out of the way and gets the job done when the sun is shining, you know? Over the years, these super small, super useful, super plastic-y and super cheap 50mm f/1.8 lenses have come to be known as 'nifty fifties'. I recently picked up a copy of the nifty fifty for my digital full frame camera and I'm delighted to report that my 'serious' camera now fits comfortably in my fanny pack.

The nifty fifty also generally has very solid optics, so I knew I'd come home with a state-of-the-art file when I noticed this amazing cloud formation the other day on a walk. The construction project is nearly complete, so the dumpster with the cool graphics will probably get hauled away very soon. 

The hard problem of photography

The history of painting on monochrome photographs is probably nearly as old as photography itself. As color photography has become the default mode for recording images, the reasons to manipulate photographs with paint have become much more personal. One reason is to push the final result a little further down the line from representational to non-representational art. Another would be to ensure that the final piece is a unique work of art, not infinitely reproducible like a digital file. The Danish artist Erik Steffensen has said that he combines painting and photography in order to 'widen the space'. What I take from this is that by adding paint one adds detail or meaning, one fills in the gaps between what one experienced in the moment and what the camera was actually able to record.

Along these lines, I like this version of the image better than the file I posted back on June 22.

Hydrangea detox

I think most gardeners know that the color of their hydrangeas is related to the acidity of the soil. That's why some folks pour over a little vinegar if they want blue flowers. But, as it turns out, the color of hydrangea blooms is a little more complicated, and interesting, than just the local pH. It is an intricate balance of pH, aluminum ion concentration, and pigment chemistry. But the key to it all is the aluminum ion. As with most metals, the availability and mobility of aluminum depends on its chemical form, which, in turn, depends on the soil's pH. It's complicated, but the more acidic the soil is, the more mobile and available free aluminum ions are, and that’s bad for the plant. What is perhaps most interesting, though, is that in the presence of aluminum ions, the roots of the hydrangea exude citric acid, thereby converting the free aluminum ions (toxic) into an aluminum citrate complex that gets transported from the roots into the rest of the plant, including the sepals. Here, the citrate complex transfers the aluminum ion to the pigment molecules in the flower, changing the color from red/pink to blue in the process. So, while the pH effect is super cool, what the hydrangea is actually doing is a local detox of its environment, which is even more impressive. 

Any way, something to think about the next time you admire the wonderful hydrangeas in your garden.

Tensions

As an artist, I am certain that you must feel the push and pull of opposing forces when you work. There is definitely an analytical side to photography, which for me manifests as a deep interest in documenting the materiality of the world around me. That's just my jam. Of course, there is also a more emotional or expressive side, which in my case often comes out in the form of manipulated images. Finding the right amount of tension is an important aspect of doing the work. The word 'tensions' is also used in music theory to describe the use of additional notes to spice up a chord (such as stacking two triads together, say a major 9th over a major triad). I just tried it, by the way, very nice. Every jazz player ultimately figures out their preferred methods of working, and the same is true of visual artists. As an additional twist, I think it is important to keep things fresh. Tensions tend to lose their force with repetition. 

How do you keep thing fresh?

Kindred spirits

At some point a decade or so ago, I went through this phase where I would pick up a sturdy stick at the start of a hike and carry it with me until I was done walking. Then, I would find a place to leave the stick for someone else to find and use, or to just become part of the landscape again. Here in the Southeast, it's just too damn easy to get poison ivy, something I wouldn't wish on anyone, so I've gotten out of the habit. But there sure are times I'd like a stick handy, to fend off a snake or to steady a camera. So, when I came upon this scene, I saw evidence of a kindred spirit, and that cheered me up.

Here's to good light and artistic success this weekend.

Chopin and photography

A couple of days ago, I stumbled upon an interview during which the classical pianist Emmanuel Axe discussed the pieces he worked on during the COVID lockdown. He wanted to spend the time diving into compositions he had neglected during his career, and it turns out that he has not performed very much Chopin. So, he spent much of 2020 leaning into Chopin. He discussed his process of practice or rehearsal, and mentioned that the German word for rehearsal is 'probe'. 'Probe' also means to test, explore, investigate, check out, that sort of thing. A good example would be figuring out how to balance the left and right had parts in Chopin. You have to sit down at the piano and do some experiments -- explore some of the possibilities available to you. The same approach applies to a good studio practice in the visual arts, I would say. 

So, what's on the rehearsal schedule this week?

The orange that surrounds us

Not sure when or where I picked up this little scrap of knowledge, but somewhere along the line someone told me that the word orange doesn't rhyme with anything. I guess the writer Gilbert Sorrentino viewed that as a bit of a challenge because he wrote an entire book about it:

Who
was that who saw
his father
in
his shorts, mother laughing?

Who decided on the pattern? Of oranges? On white.

Who was that? Who
saw his father? In his shorts! Mother laughing. Who?

Who decided? On the pattern of oranges
on
white.

(G. Sorrentino, from The Orangery, 1978)

Yeah, and this might go some way towards explaining why orange sneakers are usually the first ones to be discounted. But I would never wear a pair of orange and white shorts. Never.

Cooking the coffee

I was cooking the morning coffee and thinking about nothing much, when I noticed the day's first light making a one of a kind shadow with last night's wine glass. I could tell it was an expensive glass too because of the trapped condensation. Naturally, I appreciate this level of craftsmanship. So I grabbed my real camera and made a few exposures. I guess I could have just used my phone, but then I would have had to see the notifications and I needed coffee to face all of that.

We are vain and we are blind

Recently, my wife has been taking advantage of an unoccupied nail in the wall to hang her sewing loop when she's not using it. For whatever reason, every time I walk past, I look over expecting to see the reflection of my big, beautiful face. You see, the loop is at eye height and the oval shape is very reminiscent of a mirror frame. Kind of annoying to be reminded of what a vain bastard you are, but there it is. Shot on Ilford Ortho Plus film using the Leica R9 and the 50mm Summilux lens. Not sure it mattered that much given my processing choice, but I rated the film at an EI of 64. Developed in Decaffenol for 11 minutes and scanned using a digital camera. I thought I was done with Talking Heads references but this one was too good to pass up.

Life line?

The dappled light coming through the trees slashed across the surface of the wall in a manner that reminded me of the canvases of Clyfford Still. With that notion flickering in the back of my mind, I composed and recorded an image, but only a single exposure because I didn't think the photograph was going to 'work'. But when I converted it to monochrome, I found myself liking the image more and more. I can't find any evidence that Still's marks were directly inspired by nature, but perhaps the influence goes the other way around. Maybe the slash of white is a kind of life line creeping into my photographs?

Moving by remote control

When I first learned about Vivian Maier just over a decade ago, the shear number of self portraits she shot caught my attention. It made me think about what fraction of serious photographers make images of themselves, even if these photographs are not intended to ever see the light of day. After a moment's thought, it seemed obvious that almost every photographer uses themself as a model at some point. Come on, we've all done a variation of the mirror shot; some of the best images of our teenage selves were probably captured in the bathrooms of our youth not long after acquiring our first cameras.

At a recent visit to Glenstone, I noticed some small fish making ripples in a pond as they moved about. I started photographing them. At first, I thought I would crop out my shadow, but then, I decided I liked the images better as selfies. These days technology makes it pretty easy to get decent self portraits. Back in the film days, though, you sometimes had to get a little creative. I remember once, trying to get a picture of myself using an inexpensive Polaroid camera. I ended up using a golf club to push the shutter button.

The sound of machines

I was wandering around the periphery of a construction site when I came across a piece of refuse the clean-up crew had obviously missed. My good fortune. The late afternoon light brought out the surface texture and I could think of many fabulous abstract compositions. Problem was, I did not have a camera with me, not even my phone. So, as soon as I got home, I grabbed my camera, hopped in the car and returned to the scene. And I am so glad I did. The image made with my 'serious' camera is so much better than what the phone would have captured. The original color of the paint was a pukey orange, so I was happy to convert the image to monochrome prior to split toning it. 

I hope your weekend is filled with good light, and that you remember to take your camera with you as you wander.

Messages for everyone

The other day, several generations of the family went to Harper’s Ferry, WV for a day trip. Naturally, I brought my camera along, but I really wanted to avoid taking too many of the same hackneyed photographs as everyone else. A few cliches are fine, and perhaps even unavoidable, but I wanted to capture a few more unique images as well. So, I made a point of wandering off on my own along the banks of the Shenandoah River. On my little detour, I came across an enormous rat snake sunning itself on the trunk of an even more enormous tree. I figured that if the snake felt comfortable hanging out in this area, it probably meant that it was not overrun by tourists. So, I started looking for some compositions with the hope that perhaps they have not been photographed exactly like this before. Of course, we’ll never know for sure, but I’m pleased enough with the images I got.

Might not ever get home

I was enjoying contemplating this piece by Michael Heizer at Glenstone. I notice that almost no one spent much time engaging with the piece. People seemed able to take it in much faster than I did. I am sure they had their reasons. And it didn’t bother me in the slightest. It reminded me of the times I visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York and I needed to escape the mass of humanity for a few minutes to catch my breath. I would duck into one of the galleries containing minimalist art. There was no one else in there most of the time and I could recover from the visual overload of the rest of the exhibitions. It was all good because the minimalist work was my favorite anyway.

Some people touch it but they can’t hold on

The more I sit with the images I got at Glenstone, the more I like this particular shot. As far as a static photograph is concerned, perhaps this is as close as I will come to conveying my sense of disequilibrium walking through the piece. I think the black and white is a good choice and the composition is solid. To go further, though, I may need to think about incorporating motion. Over the years, I’ve played with all the usual ways of dealing with motion in a single photograph, but maybe what I need to do right now is dive into video. After all, for some time now, modern phones, and digital cameras in general, have been well set up for this. Of course, I’ve played around with video; it ain’t rocket science. My super slow motion video of ice tea being poured into a glass is a classic around here. 

Sometimes the world has a load of questions

Even though it looked a little dicey outside and my intuition said ‘it is gonna rain’, I checked the weather app on my phone and there was a zero percent chance of precipitation. So I hit the road. I needed to clock a few miles. About 20 minutes in, past the point of turning back in other words, the sky opened up and there was a bit of a down pour. I took shelter under the canopy of a tree to wait it out. That’s when I noticed one of those big metal boxes that look like they have something to do with high voltage power. The raindrops were creating interesting patterns on the metal surfaces. Fortunately, these days everyone has a default camera with them, myself included, so I was able to record the scene. In fact, the only reason I’ve totally missed a photo opportunity lately is when I couldn’t be bothered to take out my phone. Like that time I saw a cat peeking out of a culvert on the side of a country road. 

I really wish I hadn’t had my phone buried in my backpack that time. 😤

The world is near but it is out of reach

It was a reasonably successful portrait session, I think. With a little effort, I connected with the subject and build the necessary degree of rapport to proceed. My camera lacks ‘animal eye detect autofocus’, but I was able to improvise in the moment. It is worth noting that I have not been in such close proximity to a cockscomb in many years, if ever, especially an alive one, and I realized that if it came to it, I think I’d choose to feed the comb to the dog. Offal may be all the rage among foodies, but I’m afraid my ambitions peaked at the egg level.