Thanks For The Memories ~

Someday, if I really get to feeling motivated, I'd like to write a book on being a photographer, and title it something like "Perils, Pitfalls, and Paranoia". We need as much to worry about as we can. And what brings me to this melancholic state? Simply, the arrival in my in-box of yet another in that endless stream of articles reminding me that my future, my legacy, my very birthright -- all of it -- is doomed to meaningless and un-readable twaddle in the (probably) not too distant future. Unless I make a lot of prints between then and now.

Well, um, thanks for the heads-up.

So, am I the only one who doesn't fully buy in to the panic? I mean, sure, given a source of light and a splash of silver nitrate and a negative is theoretically printable until hell freezes over. But truth be told, I have lost or damaged my share of negatives in the past, too, and that makes them as un-recoverable as the data on a floppy disk. Oh, and no back-up; the vast majority of my negatives remain scandalously un-printed, apart from their contact sheets.

I do confess to a petit goût of paranoia, though: my photos, since I began shooting exclusively digital, are backed-up on external harddrives, where also reside all the photos formerly living on my 100-year DVDs. I tend not to lose a lot of sleep over it. But data-redundancy is not really the point, as far as I can tell; my concerns are more immediate.The advent of the interwebs, and social media in particular, has made creating and sharing images more relevant, more intimate, and more exciting than ever before. This is largely what drives me. I've argued here before that for me the joy lies in the creative process, and not entirely in the resulting artifact. I'll take it, make it, post it, share it, write about it ... and then move on to the next one.  That, and strong coffee, are what get me up and out of bed.

If the fates deem I should live long enough to see the next big advancement in storage media (shoot, that could be next week) then I'll diligently transfer my files accordingly. I swear. For posterity, sure, but for myself, too. Re-discovering an old image I made years ago with fresh new insight is supremely satisfying.

And if the fates don't deem? Then to hell with them. I have great fun with photography in the here and in the now.

And that's the only place I know.

Old And In The Way, Part 4

I'm turning 64 this week -- tomorrow, actually -- which is the only non-decimal age we recognize, and it's entirely because of Ringo Starr. And who but a 64 year-old would even know this. But I'm not going to use this occasion to wax sappy about all my years in photography (43 and, hopefully, counting) nor to engage in a crusty invective against "kids today" that you might expect from the scornfully middle-aged.  (Middle aged, my ass. Who lives to be 128?)

But I digress, or more likely, my mind is wandering; you know... old guys.  I was going to reflect on my amazement about working in a profession that underwent a profound tectonic shift from analog to digital, and how I've been able to find happiness in both worlds. But then it dawned on me that our whole society underwent this waterfall of change, and left as much destruction as opportunity in its wake. And it's the "kids" today -- even my own, both in their 30's -- who are picking their way through the flotsam of the change we created, and coming up with their own ways to see the world.

And here's the thing: they may have little concept of what my world was like, back in the 60' and 70's, because that world no longer exists, but I have a pretty good idea about theirs, because I get to live and work in it. It's an amazing place. I wouldn't go back for anything. And I'm just following their lead; there's a lot of territory yet to cover.

Who knows how long we have before we have to hang up our spurs. I attended a workshop once with Leon Kennamer back in '74; not sure how old he was at that time but when he was asked that very question, said he'd consider quitting when he was no longer able to empty out a 16x20 tray of developer into a gallon jug without needing a funnel. Indeed. So I'm left to wonder about my own signpost of mortality in the digital age; maybe it'll happen when I can't focus on a 15" Retina screen anymore. Or focus on a beautiful woman posing in my studio. I just don't know.

But what the hell. As long as you still need me, and still feed me, I'm a happy camper.

How I got This Way ~

So last week I ran into an online article that I found myself sharing on Facebook. When I first saw it, I had to chuckle a bit since it made me think of all those cheesy "Learn Real Good Photography" kind of things -- which I absolutely love, don't get me wrong -- but this one made me reach for that second cup (ok, my third) and do a little pondering. I hate pondering, but that's what coffee's for. This brave little article put forth 8 tips to staying motivated and inspired by your photography, and its author, one Anthony Epes, gave me food for thought, and I am grateful for it.

Each tip provided some valuable advice, but it was the third one that has me, even now, reflecting on what I do as a photographer, and even why: take photos not to see the result, but to enjoy the process. Bear in mind that when we were shooting commercially, some very specific results were uppermost in our mind; it's the inescapable fact of making a living. But it was the zen of the motions -- the hours spent in the studio, the hours spent in the darkroom -- that provided the gravity of joy that has made me realize, over and over again, that I'm simply not capable of doing anything else in this world. I think Mr. Epes wants you to feel that same sense of fulfillment, and I applaud him for his effort.

I don't work commercially anymore, apart from some technical training and lighting workshops, but I think I'm enjoying photography now more than I ever have. I've re-discovered that process: of embracing chance, of celebrating serendipity, of actively engaging my photographic heart, soul, and eye every waking minute of every day. You don't always need a camera.

It can all be distilled into one defining and incredibly powerful statement (attributed to Ansel Adams, among others) which I have long ago taken to heart, and is the only advice I feel qualified to make to anyone wishing to understand this thing we call photography: Expose for the secrets, develop for the surprises.

Go ahead. Surprise yourself.

Life, Baseball, and Stupid Rules

Ever notice how rules are often made up by people who don't play the game? It happens all the time. Take baseball, for instance. Once again, there's talk of limiting the strike zone. Of going to the DH in the National League. Oh, and the travesty of Instant Replay. Fans (such as myself, if you haven't guessed that already) are not the ones who come up with this nonsense. It's all about the peripheral stuff -- television coverage, commercial appeal, and of course, money -- and only rarely, if ever, integral to the game itself. And, yes, I think about such things. I lead a charmed life.

This minor tantrum comes to me by way of another such rule change that came about late last year in my other beloved passion. Reuters, a most august British news agency, announced that it would no longer allow its photographers to use the RAW file format in their photography. Their reasoning, such as it was, didn't seem to address a legitimate work-flow concern, but rather that a RAW file supposedly leaves open a greater opportunity to manipulate an image, thus calling into question its authenticity. But it completely misses the point of what good photojournalism is all about in the first place. It's just changing the strike zone.

RAW file or jpeg, a committed and talented photographer's point of view is precisely what I want to see. The editorial process is inherent in the act of photographing any event, newsworthy or not: where the camera is aimed, what lens is selected, what sort of light is used, and most importantly, what isn't in the photograph. That's what's being manipulated, not the artifact of exposure, but the very moment in time that the photographer wants us to remember and hold dear. Doesn't matter if the photographer shot it in RAW,  jpeg, or Ecktachrome. And there was certainly more room for a skilled printer to manipulate a tri-x negative in the darkroom than you can imagine, but I don't recall anybody bitched about that.

The great storytellers of our medium have always broken the rules, and that's largely what made their images great in the first place.  Robert Capa, W. Eugene Smith, Sabastião Salgado and so many others gave us their personal strength of vision. Their images were powerful, and, presumably, damaging and upsetting, in some cases maybe even uplifting and affirming. Some people don't like that.

Rules have always been made by those on the outside, people who aren't fans of the game, people who want to exert some control. Some rules were just meant to be broken, and others, perhaps, just ignored.

I don't care how long it takes to play the game.

The Lay of the Landscape ~

Last week was an interesting week for me, which was great because, (outward appearances notwithstanding), not all of them are. But here's what transpired: I was given a Facebook challenge to come up with a week's worth of "nature" photos to post, and as I said at the time, I felt it really was something of a challenge, but enjoyable and well worth it. Even in my early studying days in the '70's, I never really considered myself a "nature" photographer, and am still unsure exactly what it means, to be honest. It got me to thinking, of course, and I began musing on the nature (so to speak) of nature and landscape photography, and if I was in fact conflating the two unnecessarily.

"Nature" photography, I'm thinking, is something of an artificial contrivance, the (admittedly lovely) fiction that there exists an unspoiled vision created solely for my camera. And I have no problem with this; I believe sometimes I can just point my camera and let the fates take over and deliver some surprises. The fates, of course, is a silly concept -- it's really the lifetime accumulation of our experiences left to think on their own. For me, it's a meditation, and sometimes even a discovery or two.

But I can't help thinking that a "landscape" photograph is something else again. It's a design-on-purpose, to my way of thinking. It's a construction project, it's nature upon which the man-made world interrupts mid-sentence. There is a conscious effort in making a landscape, incorporating purposeful elements of design, and the effort means the world to me, but effort it is nonetheless.

I don't really know if it's all that important, anyway. Fact of the matter is I'm addicted to the photographic image of any sort, natural or unnatural; landscape, cityscape, seascape, or any other scape. And my ultimate love, the portrait. I might approach each in a different state of mind, or maybe no particular state of mind at all. It doesn't matter if I'm looking at a photograph or making one. It's photography as zen, not as artifact.

But what the hell, it's a rainy morning and I have run out of coffee; I should go do a little wandering outside.

Nature calls.

The Winter of My Discontent ~

I rarely take a hiatus from posting. Sometimes my travels take me blessedly away from being connected, but in this case it was the usual year-end trifecta of Christmas, New Year's, and bronchitis. Last year, Kona. This year, herbal tea. And then we got snow.
Winter in Portland is usually a crappy week in January. It gets cold, it gets icy, and we get all sullen and withdrawn, not that anyone really notices. It's usually pretty gray and grim around here, which we really don't mind all that much, either. When we get foggy mornings, all the better; it makes for great photography. But that bone-chilling cold kills the heart and dulls the mind, and at this point mine can only take so much more dulling. And then we get snow.

I have a long relationship with snow. I grew up in it. I went to high school and college in Wyoming, and worked for several years in Colorado. It was a regular and predictable part of my life between the months of October and April, so its increasingly rare appearances in Portland are something I rather enjoy. I learned how to drive in the stuff from my early teens, so now I gloat with a smug superiority when I navigate my Subaru through it like a Swede. No, I'm not proud of that. But hey.
Photographically, it's a delight, and to be perfectly honest, I wish we got more. Everything changes with snow: light and shadow, landscapes and textures, moods and humor. As much as I enjoy tramping around in the rain with my camera, even more so in the snow, but our opportunities seem to decline with each passing winter.

I have no fine moral note to finesse here, just these simple observations. The snow I speak of has long since melted into memory, and the rains are due back any day now. Our lives will shift back into normal; we will return to our regularly scheduled program. But what the hell.

Pitchers and catchers will report to spring training in a month.

Somewhere I Have Never Traveled ~

The cool thing about photography is that eventually we have to get out and go somewhere. It is not a solitary pursuit. We're not holed up in an unheated garret on the left bank, though I have to admit that does sounds kind of romantic (does it have wifi?). No, we get out, we interact, we take pictures. I don't imagine writers gather up other writers and go on walkabouts, but I think they'd have fun if they did.

But it is precisely what we do, and I try to take it a step or two further than the recommended daily allowance. I like to travel to the familiar and try to make it unfamiliar, novel, a bit off-balance. It's not hard. Last week, for example, I went downtown to do a little Christmas shopping, but found myself in the mood to park up in a part of town I usually don't find myself in. It wasn't some great adventure, mind you, and was probably only a quarter mile or so from my intended destination, but it allowed for some fresh ways to see my town. It was a great walk, and provided some new iPhone material. For better or worse, you're seeing some of the results here.

I do love foreign travel, and even the quick regional get-away, but those kinds of trips are special events and can occur, at best, only occasionally. So every chance I get, right here in my hometown and at any moment's notice, I go somewhere I have never traveled. Yes, that line is from my favorite poem by my favorite poet, and it is in fact a heartfelt love poem, but heck, I  take my metaphors literally. Cummings would, I'm sure, find little fault in it. Somewhere I have never traveled, he writes, gladly beyond any experience. An adventure for the heart and camera, mes amis, and it's only a few blocks away.

So go.

The Portable Portrait ~

I have a passion for the portrait. It's what drew me to photography. Oh sure, I had the fantasy of traveling to exotic and dangerous places to shoot for National Geographic, but then I also had the fantasy that I'd play outfield for the Yankees. But I didn't have a passport and I never hit above .200 anyway (even in '66, my best summer at the plate), so the opportunity to learn portrait photography's dark arts seemed like a better idea. After all these years, it still does.

For many years, the darkroom was my place of refuge, a place of quiet contemplation where small seeds of inspiration could take shape and grow. I no longer have one, and my Macbook Pro, nice tool that it is otherwise, can't provide the same environment.  The studio stands in for it pretty well, however, and it's a place that is definitely good for the heart and soul. But here's the thing: I find that anyplace I am, with lovely light and a lovely subject, will put me in the same contemplative space, and the creative impulse is just as strong. Maybe even more.

This is why today's camera technology is so cool. The virtual world has no need for a big negative; this is mirrorless territory, even iPhone territory. My light little Fuji knows my mercurial moods and barely complains, and my iPhone is even more compliant. One or both is with me at all times, even if the perfect light isn't. But I'm forever searching for that beautiful north-facing window. After all these years, I'm making my best portraits nearby.

Photography is one of those lucky professions where you're actually rewarded for growing old. My knees may be worn but my eyes (as long as I'm wearing my glasses) are seeing light, color, shade, form, textures -- and beauty -- in entirely novel ways. There's no end to it, until the end.

But it does make me wonder what would have happened if I'd been batting over .300 in '66.

Coloring Inside the Lines ~

Color me curious, I guess. This little tidbit of language theory has been on (or slightly under) my radar since my grad school days, but its reappearance in an article in The Business Insider last week kicked in my front door. Until somewhat recently in human history, says the author Kevin Loria, we couldn't see the color blue. We couldn't see it because we had no name for it, or perhaps we had no name for it because we couldn't see it; either way it's a pretty confounding premise.

I've spent a good many years as a pretty decent color printer, I'm proud to say, though my successes were questioned by my wife who liked to point out my blue-green color vision deficiency.  I should point out that a slight blue-green deficiency is somewhat common among us guys, so I take this in stride.  I also conduct a popular shade-matching workshop to cosmetic and restorative dentists, where we study in some detail the problems involved in measuring and communicating color information, so the very notion of color -- regardless of the words we have to describe any particular hue -- looms large in the foreground of my career as a photographer.

What, then, are we to make of this whole color-blue argument? I don't know, either, but something inside me thinks it's important. We should all be perceiving the nuance of color according to our experiences and culture, and for the life of me I can't lay claim to an expansive vocabulary describing a blue sky, either. I live in Oregon. I should have a bunch of words to describe a gray sky, but I don't.

In the final analysis, though, I'm probably not the one to turn to for advice on the matter. I've long been devoted to black & white prints, and I  love color, too, but it's a strained relationship at best. I'll push, pull, bend, twist, and exaggerate it at every opportunity. The best landscape photographers pull their hair out striving for an unholy degree of accuracy, but not me. I like to improvise; the music of photography is jazz.

Or maybe it's the blues?

A Thanksgiving Observation, and Hockey ~

Ok, so I wasn't necessarily thinking I'd be posting to my blog today: Thanksgiving Day 2015.  It's a day taken completely off, I'm not at the studio, and sure as hell I'm not out shopping. No, it's a mellow sunny Oregon day, and in between prepping the turkey, drinking some wine, following some good hockey games, and drinking some wine, my mind was set to wandering anyway, so it just seems natural to jot down a few observations. And did I mention the wine?

On balance, I have little to complain about, and bad knees don't count. I have much to be thankful for. As I reflect on a (so far) somewhat long and eventful life, I can't help but remark that the bulk of it has been spent in the peculiar institution we call Photography. I mean, really, who does this for a living? Well, I certainly have, for more than forty years without a single regret. I've had the good fortune to have worked at some amazing studios with some of the most talented and inspirational photographers. Whatever successes I have enjoyed, I owe entirely to them. I have had the great good fortune to have worked for several years as a professional sales rep for a couple of outstanding photography organizations, as well. It was fun and challenging work that put me in touch with some of the most incredible photographers in the country.

And now? Well, now is the best time I'm having yet. I'm surrounded by supremely talented people whose photography just blows me away, and pushes me to new levels. I'm having the time of my life.

Some may argue that it's disingenuous to take just one silly little day of the year to express our gratitudes, but I say pshaw. If we try to practice a little kindness every day, and appreciate with sincerity those who extend it to ourselves, then taking one special day in the fall to express some thanks with a slight air of formality is appropriate indeed, and most welcomed. So let's do this. Go bake your turkey, drink a little wine, catch a couple hockey games, and drink a little wine. All, or at least some, will be well in the world.

And did I mention the wine?

Some Happy Observations ~

Few things speak so positively about the genuine inclusiveness, the overall democratization, of modern photography than what has come to be known, informally, as the "photowalk." I know whereof I speak. I went on two of them since I last posted; about a week ago with my favorite and oft-mentioned co-conspirators Chaz and Keri, and earlier this week with my friend and colleague Darcie, braving the rains and wind out in the Columbia Gorge. This didn't happen much, if at all, back in the day.

Not that many people had cameras, I guess, and film provided no immediate excitement. Most folks who did own a little 35mm camera or a Kodak Instamatic broke them out only for special occasions and vacations to the Grand Canyon. Even my dad, artist as we was, would break out the old 8mm Bell & Howell and make mini-movies that rarely saw the light of day. My colleagues who actually were photographers were busy working. We rarely got together to just go out and shoot. Drink, yes, but shooting just for fun, not so much.
Happily, all this has changed. Unhappily, something else has, too.

I've been reading an article this week on the increasing unhappiness of my fellow grownups. You'd think that creeping age and bad knees would be bad enough, but it's garnered serious attention among mental health professionals. Here's the statement that really hit me: "Most research suggests that age brings happiness because people become more content, they become more settled overall...We found that since 2010, that's no longer true."  Yikes.
I make to pretense at figuring out what's going on here, and I'm in no position to judge. My own regimen of coffee in the morning and tequila at night is probably not a satisfactory salve. But I see hidden within this the happy conjunction of creativity and positivity. Everybody has a camera now. And yes, that's a very good thing.

Unhappiness is a complex thing, and the universe weighs upon each of us in its own particular way. I don't really think there are forces of darkness so much as there is a gray ordinariness in our lives. Cameras -- and the likely chance to use them -- are perfect tools for painting a little color back into those gray walls. To hell with the rain, let's go find a little un-ordinariness.

We'll call it a Photowalk.

What You Bring To The Party ~

There was a pretty cool project conducted recently, supported by Canon Australia. In it, a group of professional portrait photographers were tasked with making a portrait of a man, but each was given a different backstory of that individual. To each photographer, he was either a self-made millionaire, a rescuing hero,  an ex-con, a recovering alcoholic. Even a fisherman, God forbid. The man in question, of course, was none of these, but each photographer created a singular image largely informed, albeit subconsciously, by what they thought they knew about him. And this should surprise absolutely no one.

Our brains, as my guru Richard pointed out to me just today, create their own reality. It's what we haul around with us, and what helps us make sense out of this world -- which in my case can be quite a chore, indeed. It's unavoidable that what we carry is what largely informs the things we create as artists, as photographers, as anything. My passion is making portraits, and capturing in that image the heart, the essence, the personality of that fellow human. But to do so, I have to dig down inside myself too. Hopefully, I don't dig up old wounds and slights; what I look for are those shared bonds that link the two of us together. We will find there our compassion, not our prejudices. I may not always succeed, but the effort itself is instructive. Chief Dan George once said, sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't.

This encompasses, of course, all of our photography, and not just portraits. Our best work reflects this understanding and is all the better for the effort. Ansel himself said that we don't make a photograph with just a camera. We bring to the act of photography all the pictures we've seen, all the books we've read, all the music we've heard, all the people we have loved.  Art is autobiography.

Your brain knows what I'm talking about.

Chaos and Order in a Good Cold Brew ~

The chaos of the universe descended on us this week. Ok, that's a little overly dramatic. It's actually much worse. This is the week we closed up the studio in Beaverton, and began the move to our new digs on the property in Oregon City. Yes, its a bigger and better studio, and will be so lovely to work in, but for those of you who have ever moved from point A to point B in your life, the chaos reference will be well understood. I seek sympathy and, yes, a beer would be nice too.

A hectic life is, however, sometimes a good thing, though I have to convince myself that this is so. Deep breaths, meditation, and a retreat into my Feed of Interesting Articles had a positive and relaxing effect. Out of all the chaos a careful observer will find the lovely traces of orderly design, it appears, and I'm reassured by this. From galaxies to molecules -- and, one hopes, to all imperfect photographs -- the spirals, veins, patterns, and designs are all the same. We are all connected, we're all made of the same stuff; the stuff that came from stars which long ago gave up all hope, or tried too hard to show off to their friends. And I see those patterns everywhere I point a camera.

We create an appearance of order by categorizing the photographs we make, and sometimes categorizing ourselves, too, as photographers: landscapes, portraits, still-lifes, and so on. I'm not judging. Some of us have to make a living at this. But as I ascend into the chaotic orderliness of free and joyful photography, I'm finding it harder and harder to make those distinctions. I approach a portrait much as I do landscape, for instance: what I see before me is something beautiful and unique, and I'm moved by the same aesthetic. Give me a camera and a beautiful world, and I'll make sense out of it.

Just as long as I don't have to pack up and move again.

Synergy, Energy, (And Of Course), Caffeine ~

Let it never be said that I have unproductive weeks. Oh sure, I'm prone to the same distractions and dissipations as the best of them, and some days it's hardly worth getting out of bed, but an unproductive week? Never. I try every day to make a sharable photograph; failing that, I try every day to learn something new. Failing both of those means, well, it's time to fall back and reconnect with someone who can help keep that flame ignited, maybe ever pour a little gas on it. Inspiration is not a one-way street.

In those regards, then, this has been a pretty darn good week: good photography weather, great articles showing off the latest Hubble images, and most of all, (re)connecting with some wonderful friends and colleagues. Coffee, of course, is the perfect lubricant of good conversation and the unifier of otherwise disparate energies. I met with Tracy earlier the week, a long-time friend and colleague in the dental photography business whose passion for her craft and her clients remains undiminished after all these years; later with Darcie, one of my favorite photographers and one with whom I had shared many a personal project in past years; and my buddy Dr. Dave, who is helping me prepare for a lecture I'm giving to his dental study group next month. Unique individuals, yes, but as I said there is always the unifying force of good coffee, and the commonality of a shared passion for the photographic image and the inspiration to make them.

I guess some would simply call this networking, which is fine on its face but might also be just a little off-target. It's about more than just the connections themselves. Static or otherwise, good networking is the backbone of any successful business, but you know me. I want something a step or two to the side of that; I want something a little more. I keep thinking of the word synergy.  I enjoy being lost in the energy that's created when the sum is greater than the parts themselves. I don't know about you, but I think it's a tangible thing. It's the very oxygen of the creative process.

So use this as an excuse to send out a text or pick up the phone and gather with your fellow crazies and co-conspirators (and as we approach Halloween, you might even discover they're crazier than you thought). You'll find that you each still share that same spark, and if it's starting to dim a bit, then all the better to regroup and recharge. Granted, it may not make you charge right out and spend the day with your camera, chasing down the one photo that will speak to you forever.

But you're probably going to want to.

10,000 .... And Counting ~

An interesting article showed up in my Feed of Interesting Articles this week. It was just a few short paragraphs by a travel writer named Jason Row, but he was commenting on one of the great luminaries of 20th century photography, Henri Cartier-Bresson. Now Cartier-Bresson, you may remember, is justly famous for coining the phrase, and embodying the photographic style, of the decisive moment. This philosophy, though maybe a bit dramatic, nonetheless influenced all of us to some degree. But the article did not examine the idea of photographic moments, decisive or otherwise. Rather it examined, in brief but otherwise revelatory fashion, a lesser-known statement he once made: "Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst."

Mr. Row, it appeared, was taking that 10,000-count somewhat literally, even examining how easily one may approach that figure vis-a-vis film vs digital technologies. I believe Cartier-Bresson intended a more metaphorical reading, at least I hope he did. But if the number itself is merely an arbitrary signpost, to what does it point?
I mean, I clearly remember the refrigerator we had at the studio I first worked and studied at, so many years back. It was packed with, literally, hundreds of feet of film: bricks and pro-packs  of 120 film, 100-foot rolls of Tri-X and Ektachrome to bulk-load, and more boxes of sheet film than you could count. There was hardly room for beer, though God knows we tried. So for sheer numbers, 10,000 was hardly daunting.

But numbers only represent a larger truth, one hopes. And the truth is, we take our craft seriously, and if it takes a lot of practice to improve -- as surely it does in any worthwhile endeavor -- then let's keep counting. You're first 10,000 anything are not your worst, but they are the signposts on your path that keep pointing ahead. You can be proud of the work you've produced so far without being satisfied. I, for one, have not yet taken my best photograph. Might be the next one. Might be the one after that.

But who's counting?

Plato's Travelogues, Part de Tres ~

John Steinbeck is always a great read, always; and one of the most delightful of those reads, Travels With Charley, kept running through my head this past week. He had set out with his traveling companion Charley in search of America (the book's subtitle) near the end of his career as a writer. Other than my own reflections as I travel and make photographs, I draw no parallels nor critiques of one of my favorite writers. I only write to clean up the noise in my head, but like the man himself, I have come to embrace the art of travel as a means of self-reflection upon a long and adventurous career.

And so this past week at the Albuquerque Balloon Festival could well be titled Travels With Nancy. Not only wife and travel companion, she is the instigator, motivator, and organizer of many a fine trip. Left to my own devices, I'd prefer to grab my brother Jim and light out for the territories, with nary a thought beyond where the next gas station -- or liquor store -- may be. But a trip to this festival required a level of planning and precision I'm generally not capable of, and which also inspired in me a more focused and disciplined approach to my photography. I traveled camera-light: just my trusty little Fuji and a couple of lenses; a minimalist approach to a maximal event. It's been photographed a zillion times before, so I could hardly pretend to speak in a wholly original voice. But that was hardly the point.

I should point out that Charley was a french poodle, and Nancy is not. But a travel companion is always and forever more than just someone occupying the seat next to you. A true travel companion is the chorus of Agememnon, a fresh thought, a light of a different color. And in my case anyway, it's how I got there in the first place. In my experience, an excellent travel companion has always kept me from over-thinking the possibilities and probabilities, making me stay in the moment. Photography requires this, but photographers stray.

We should all get the opportunity, if not the necessity, to reflect on what we've produced as our careers wind down. Doing it right is, I submit, an intensely solitary effort, but whatever our calling has been -- artists, photographers, healers, teachers -- it is inescapable. We've come down a long road, and in this case, it lead me to a hot-air balloon festival in my beloved Albuquerque; a place where I spent part of my childhood, and have always felt a warm attachment to.

Like Steinbeck, I want to see more of America, and even the world, and use the experience of traveling to see deeper inside myself. His voice was a pen and paper, mine happens to be a camera, but we should, all of us, find Charley and go somewhere.

Even if Charley happens to be a french poodle.

Rust and Ruins and a Good Walk ~

I've been known to take long walks indeed, or at least lengthy travels. Sure, I'm a studio guy, but the road beckons and nothing gives me white-line fever more than a nice camera sitting with its legs crossed on the edge of my desk, asking me out on a date. My wandering companion of late, one Laurie Excell, is even more of a wanderer, and often in the very literal sense, having completed this past summer a 600 some-odd mile walking tour in Spain. But our attentions turned this week to a more modest project closer to home, a fascinating old lumber camp that's been turned into a walking museum of old relics (I know what you're thinking, but I'm not one yet) and restaurant about an hour west of town. It's a place called Camp 18, and if you've driven over to the coast from Portland on 26, you've been by it a million times. Well, next time, pull in. You'll end up spending a most gratifying day.

It's a treasure trove of old logging machinery and railroad cars that have been left out in the Oregon elements to weather gracefully. I'm a history buff every bit as much as a photographer, and am particularly fascinated by the remnants of 19th and early 20th century Americana. So this place was like Disneyland for me. Laurie and I spent the better part of a gorgeous sunny day taking in the textures and the colors, communing with the ghosts of trucks and tractors that were so vital to an industry that was once the lifeblood of the Northwest. Two inveterate wanderers, Laurie and I, figuring out ways to have fun and cause trouble.

So we're going to organize a Wandering group. Laurie has lead photography workshops for many years, in amazing places throughout the world, and wrote a monthly column in Photoshop User magazine. I've lead photo groups in Jackson Hole and, of course, lighting and portrait workshops right here at home. We've been wandering together in these parts for a long time and have always thought it'd be a kick-butt idea to invite some like-minded souls to join us. Camp 18 inspired us. We're taking a group back there on November 1 for a day of photo instruction and shooting; any camera or smartphone and any skill level. Rain or shine (and you know I'd prefer a little rain, but that's just me). Fee TBD, we'll meet there for breakfast at 8 am, shoot all day, then head back indoors for a slideshow and guidance on software, apps, and post-processing. What's not to love? More information will be forthcoming from both of us in the next day or two, so stay tuned.

I bet you have a camera somewhere close by, just begging to go out on a date, right?

Here's you chance to take it somewhere nice.

Gray Matters ~

I've mentioned in posts before that photographers are attracted to shiny things. Well anyway, unrepentant gearheads like me certainly are, but the larger truth is much more interesting. It's not the shiny things that possess us so, it's really the gray matter that occupies our daily minds, and I'm not talking about our brains (tempting though that is.) Gray dominates our photographic way of thinking: neutral gray, 15% gray, grayscales, 256 shades of gray in a jpeg, and more. I was put in mind of this by a conversation I had this week with a client in Honolulu; as we texted back and forth (yes, texted; who talks anymore?) he expressed his sympathy that we in Oregon were about to enter into our gray and rainy season. His intentions were sincere, but I told him, in the friendliest Oregonian manner I could muster, to kindly put a sock in it.

This is, after all, what I live for; I celebrate the first day of Fall and all that it portends. We've been taught that it was always preferable to take a portrait outdoors when it was overcast, but that's not what turns me on. It's the colors. When it's gray, when the light is soft and diffuse, colors truly come alive and express themselves with poetry instead of prose. They're not hiding in deep shadows, nor burned away in the light of a cloudless sky. They get to sing. And let me tell you, autumn is just about as beautiful here in the Northwest as it is anywhere in the world. Plus -- from a purely practical standpoint, mind you -- it's far more pleasurable to wander about in a clement atmosphere. Nobody wilts more in the mid-day sun than a pasty Oregonian, nor bitches quite as much about it. There. I've said it.

But there's really more to it than that even, and it all has to do with mood; both in the scene, and in my head. The kind of gray that dominates our late fall and winters is, in itself, subtly charged with emotion and atmosphere; a particular moody note that permeates the world and which compels me to go forth with camera and raincoat to try and capture. It's quintessentially Oregon. Why else would there be so much coffee up here?

So I say, take joy in the long Northwestern gray, or at least take heart. And to my friends in Hawaii and other sunny climes, take note but don't take pity: we can't help but find something creative in our foul weather and our foul moods. We'll come visit when it gets a little overwhelming, perhaps, and maybe it'll re-charge our batteries, but there is opportunity and optimism in all that gray that you may never understand.

Come to think of it, we probably won't either. But it won't stand in our way.

Group Theory and the Percolation of Time ~

This week I had the great pleasure of a rainy Portland photowalk (a common event) with one of my favorite photographers, Laurie Excell (a not-as-common event, which we will hopefully rectify.) Accompanied by my wife Nancy, who brought her watercolorist's eye for fantasy, we tramped the tracks and warehouses of southeast Portland and wandered through the warrens of a place called Cargo, which I had only discovered a few days earlier. Granted, these excursions may not carry the emotional weight of, say, a birthday party (of which I have had far too many, anyway) but for me these are a source of unfettered joy and creativity far outweighing the benefits of a simple hike. I highly recommend this; it's good medicine.

There is an energy in the company of cohorts and co-conspirators that I find irresistible. Colleagues or students, artists or poets, Jedi or Padawan; it takes more than one set of eyes to peel back the layers that often stand in the way of seeing what's there. Even in the studio I have always looked at the portrait session as more of a collaboration than a project. There's strength in numbers, to be sure, and a lot of creative energy. And someone usually knows a great place for coffee.

But here's the interesting thing, for me anyway. I like to get to those images on my computer just as quickly as I can, while the excitement of discovery is still fresh in my mind. There's always those one or two that leap out and demand my attention all over again, just as they did when I pointed the camera at them. The rest of them hide in the bushes, waiting for me to come walking by later so they can trip me and laugh. It's a habit I developed way back in the dark(room) ages, to purposefully let an image alone to percolate for a while, and see it as something new and fresh and exciting days, sometimes weeks, later. Great things are often hiding in the things you photograph; you saw it at the time, but just didn't know it.
I won't go so far as to compare the photo (be it a negative or a raw file) to a graceful wine that improves with age; it's a dumb cliché and anyway I prefer harder stuff. More like a casserole left in the 'fridge: it's always better the next day.

So let me know if you want to go out photowalking with me. I'm trying to make this a more regular part of my life; it's great exercise for a healthy heart and restless mind.

It's good medicine.

On Gearheads and Galaxies ~

Let me start right off by saying today's post is not a product review. Not that I have anything against them, mind you, but like the teacher who said there'd be no math, I had promised to avoid them. Most of the time, anyway. Don't get me wrong, nobody loves a shiny new object more than a photographer, and every time I read about a new camera or a new lens, I mentally go through what I loosely refer to as my "budget". But I digress. This is not a product review. And yet, and yet......

I refer you to an article sent to me by my friend Doctor Dave: Canon announced that it has produced a 250-megapixel sensor that could, if they darn well wanted to, fit into a consumer grade DSLR camera. Their own description of it reads that this sensor is capable of "...distinguishing the lettering on the side of an airplane flying at a distance of approximately 18 km (11 miles) from the shooting location." And who hasn't ever wanted to do that. Obviously (I hope) this is more useful technology for law enforcement and engineering than for us studio types and, as Dr. D pointed out to me, who the heck has a lens capable of resolving 250 megapixels? Even Canon is mum on that point, but who cares. I'd happily jack up the RAM in the old Macbook and give it a whirl.
But wait, there's more.

I have also recently come across an online report of a 3.2 giga-pixel camera currently under construction. Giga. As in billion. The math geek in me is wrapping my brain around what I calculate a single file size to be (somewhere south of 10 gigabytes, yes?) while my brain ponders the astronomical possibilities: the report states that this camera will potentially record more galaxies than there are people on earth. No mention of the cost yet, and I'm pretty certain the good folks at DP Review aren't going to be writing about it. But's it's pretty damn cool, if you ask me.

At some point -- like now, maybe -- it's hard to think about any of this in the context of photography. I guess a more accurate descriptor would be imaging technology, even though that sounds awfully sterile and antiseptic, but that's the romance of rocketry for you. If we get to take a peek under the universe's blankets, I'm all in.

It beats taking pictures of airplanes, even from 18 km (11 miles) away.