Pond Scum at Project Basho

Image #46 from the Pond Scum series will be on display at Project Basho in Philadelphia, PA beginning January 10th. The print is a part of the "Onward '08" competition, "A Journey for Emerging Photographers". The competition was juried by the photographer and Guggenheim Fellow, Andrea Modica. 1,162 images from across the United States and as far as Europe and Asia were entered, 59 were chosen for the exhibition. There will be an opening reception on Saturday - January 12th from 2 to 5pm. I plan on attending the opening so if you are in the area and would like to get together to look at prints please let me know. You can read more about the event at Project Basho's news blog or by visiting their website.

Bigger Scum Scans

I recently modified my website to allow for somewhat bigger images to be displayed. As of this writing all the Project Pond Scum photographs that have been posted reflect the new, larger size. I will also be increasing the size of pictures in the other galleries but it will be done over the next few months. You can go directly to the new images by clicking HERE. I will be doing some printing over the weekend so be sure to check back next week to see the new work.

December Rain

It's been some time since I came to the realization that good photographs can be made in almost any lighting conditions. As long as you're not object oriented you will find it's always the right light to photograph something. Well, I have been somewhat object oriented lately but now that I'm through with the shooting end of my pond scum series I've been longing to just go wandering with the camera again, looking for something without knowing just what...

It's now early December in western Pennsylvania and if that means anything it means clouds and rain. The clouds didn't scare me off but the cold rain sure did. It did until I began to think about some of the incredible photographs that I've seen which were made in the rain. While my bellows don't like to get wet any more than I do there is no reason for them to get soaked. I decided to venture out before work and during lunch breaks (bean burritos travel well) to find some dry places to photograph from during the showers.

My first stop was at a local park and I hurried to the large covered decks of the Buhl Casino. It took me almost no time to find a photograph and just like that the showers were no longer a hindrance. In fact, they forced me into new places which allowed me to work in quietly beautiful conditions when I might otherwise have just stayed inside. No big surprise, a rainy day has a certain mood and charm all it's own. What did surprise me was the fact that I am not alone in my new found appreciation for precipitation. There were by no means many people at the park with me yesterday but it certainly wasn't deserted. People were walking with umbrellas, driving slowly in their cars and some were huddled on benches gazing out into the damp air and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Those brave, foolish or smart enough to be out in the weather tended not to regard me with the typical "what the hell are you doing with that strange camera" look that I usually encounter. Instead I got smiles, nods and passing hellos that seemed filled with understanding and a mutual admiration.

The same held true again this morning when I made my way out to the old Erie canal area of the Shenango River Lake. Not many people but all friendly and enjoying the moody environment which we shared. I had no doubt I would find something to photograph on such days but I never expected to discover a group of people, albeit small, with a similar sensibility. If it's taught me anything it's not only to keep an open mind about my photography but to simply keep an open mind.

Project Update

I've reached the end of the shooting phase of Project Pond Scum and have begun making prints from the remainder of my negatives. I've got maybe 15 or 20 left to go so I'm hoping to pull another 5 promising prints from those and then begin to narrow it down to 25 or 30 final photographs for the series and a show. As tough as that may be, choosing 10 for the portfolio will only be that much more difficult!

My fingernails will be going black again as I've found that using dirty old Amidol makes it possible to change the contrast of Kentona on some prints to a degree I can't reach with my Ansco 130 developer. I can't complain though, it's well worth the extra mess for those images that require it.

I've been considering adding subtitles to some of the prints and also need to finish an essay to accompany the body of work. Add that and the printing to my list along with scanning, mounting, framing, entering contests and looking for places to hang it and suddenly finishing the shooting no longer seems so much like the end.

Neither Snow nor Rain nor Gloom of Night...

With the shooting for Project Pond Scum wrapped up and no graded paper to finish the printing until UPS brings my next box of Kentona, I was looking for something to do. I bought a huge light table a few years back and had been toying with the idea of shooting back lit leaves. The weather hasn't been pleasant the last couple weekends, be it wind or rain or simply lack of sunlight. It finally convinced me to take the work inside and I collected a couple handfuls of interesting leaves from all over the farm. I decided to light the front of the leaves as well and simply used my desk light with it's positionable arms. I have to really stretch my camera out to focus as closely as I like which causes the exposures to total about 20 seconds despite shooting directly into a light source. It's a bit more difficult than I thought to get everything into focus and composed as I want but the results so far have been well worth the effort. A little more time collecting specimens and I'll have enough subject matter to keep me busy all season, regardless of the conditions.

Pond Scum for the Holidays!

I've released two new Special Edition Prints for the 2007 holiday season. Due to the considerable interest in Project Pond Scum I have chosen #1 and #64 from the series which will be available for the reduced price of $50 each. Both photographs are 4x5 silver contact prints mounted and over matted to 8x10inch white Artcare Alpharag 4 ply board. They are numbered and signed on the front - stamped, dated and titled on the verso. Once January rolls around the prints will revert to their normal price of $100. Check out my WEBSITE for more information. (#1 is above and to the left, #64 is directly below, the first image in my last BLOG post.)

Fall at the Farm

While fall is undoubtedly one of the most temperate and beautiful seasons in western Pennsylvania it always brings with it a familiar sense of melancholy. Like spring the center of the sun may be passing the equator at a certain time but the real first days of autumn are unmistakable and never marked on the calendar. Those days came unseasonably late this year and with almost no gradation. The warm weather broke and the leaves seemed to suddenly burst into flame.

The chores of fall; splitting wood, painting the roof, cleaning the chimney, raking and grinding the leaves... they have a certain sense about them as well. Pumpkins are everywhere, gracing doorsteps, windows, the front page of the local paper almost daily and they even showed up in the beer at the nearby brewery. Farmers are in overdrive with the year's final harvest and the sound of the high school marching band drifts up the hill from town heralding the arrival of a new football season.

All of a sudden you're wearing a jacket, long sleeves and keeping an eye open for the first sighting of your long invisible breath. A weekend campfire becomes more than a novelty and place to toast marshmallows and it doesn't take long to find it's way to the wood stove inside. Chestnuts and pumpkin seeds are the snack of the hour and finding a silly Halloween costume (Ansel Adams this year) becomes a serious priority.

One of the more subtle signs of fall around Campbell's Farm is the recession of the pond scum and it has taken on a new significance for me this year. I've noticed that the algae has a way of collecting things on it's surface; helicopter seeds in the spring, grass from the mowers and weed eaters in the early summer, even goose feathers in late August and September. Now colorful leaves float whimsically from the overhanging branches to dot the green and dark waters like radiant constellations, brilliant against the Milky Way on the clearest of nights.

Tonight I loaded holders with the last 9 sheets of film I had dedicated to my Pond Scum Project. While there is still much printing, mounting, scanning, and publicizing to be done I couldn't help feeling a similar melancholy to that which fall brings with her. Of course it's mixed with excitement to realize the completion of my first major project but the mystery and unlimited potential of the unknown seems to be disappearing like those leaves hanging over the pond.

It seems the cycle persists indifferently, the air will continue to cool and the light to fade until the snow comes and with it a new set of happenings, emotions and photographic possibilities.

Algea in the Sky with Diamonds

While some relationships in our landscape are easy to recognize others demand a little more of our attention to discover. Since I started my Pond Scum Project in earnest this summer I've been making all sorts of discoveries. With focused attention I've seen the ponds on Campbell's Farm in ways I never before considered.

I've always been intrigued by the way an intimate look at nature so closely resembles the much broader view. I've seen these similarities between the alluvial fans of Death Valley and the way a spring run off shapes my driveway in Pennsylvania. Science has observed them between the smallest particles and the largest galaxies we've found. No greater photographic example exists than the aerial images of William Garnett and the closeup abstractions of Brett Weston. While their vision is markedly different the subject matter often times looks much the same despite the vast difference in scale.

Now I've found these connections in my own work. A patch of light algea protruding into the dark water like a tropical shoreline. Patches of plants and layers of scum in the water resemble a river delta winding it's way out of a forest and into the sea. Sticks in the mud become lightning dancing across a twilight canvas and most recently I've watched a patch of algae soar with the clouds while smaller pieces sparkle like diamonds in the evening sky. These forced visual relationships reveal a larger picture, one that I can only suggest. It's up to the viewer to determine just what connections they uncover in my work, what they mean and, ultimately, draw their own conclusions.

A Cup of Coffee, a Red Marker and 12 New Contact Sheets.

I've been making large format contact prints exclusively for a few years now and only recently picked up an enlarger and some new split grade printing skills. I had been shooting 35mm negs at night for awhile but hadn't printed anything which meant there was much to be done. I started picking through single negatives and making prints before I decided it would be easier to get my hands on some rc paper and start making contact sheets.

I hadn't done it for years but it's easy and I was able to bang out 12 prints before attending a friend's wedding on Saturday. I had forgotten how exciting it is to pour over a fresh batch, so many new images and possibilities to consider all at once! Throw one on the light table next to it's companion sheet of negatives and you can quickly discern what's going to make a good print and what isn't, or at least which ones are going to be a problem.

I'm now much clearer about what makes it to the front of the line and more eager to get them printed than ever. There's so much potential in a cup of coffee, a red marker and 12 new contact sheets.

Snapshots to Art and Back Again

I began taking pictures during high school, I did so as a way of recording my experiences, memories, friends and family. I always enjoyed looking through the innumerable photographs that filled the albums my mother had made over the years. These pictures had a way of bringing back past times in a visceral manner that was not otherwise possible. Sometimes a smell or a song comes close, seems to place you back in a moment of time long past but it's rare and not something you can count on.

Somewhere along the way I become more interested in using the medium of photography to express myself and my feelings about the world around me than I was in recording my life. Early in 2004, when I began to dedicate myself to producing art, I ceased making snapshots altogether. It wasn't anything I though about, it was just something that happened. Maybe it was because I had begun to use a view camera, maybe it was because I was spending so much time in the darkroom and in the field that I didn't feel like taking a camera with me while relaxing or maybe it was because I was learning to work in a more thoughtful and methodical manner that I wasn't able to apply in social situations. Most likely it was some combination of all those things.

Whatever the cause my well kept personal albums had come to an abrupt end, relegated to the bottom of a bookcase, underneath my folders of new negatives and fine art prints. A couple of years went buy before I even thought about the change. What brought it to my attention was a purging of edited negatives last summer. As I went through my work deciding what would stay and what would go I found myself flooded with memories. Memories of early mornings in Moraine State Park, late nights at the Shenango Dam and noonlight blazing off the borax of Twenty Mule Team Canyon. Each of these exposures, whether they resulted in a successful print or not, brought back the intensity of my feelings as I worked with the camera, they brought back the heat of the days and the chill of the nights, the lunches with friends as we rested and talked.

I've realized that while I no longer take pictures in an attempt to record a memory, the photographs I work so hard to make and present as art are far better records of my experiences than any snapshot I made in the past. They're better because they not only record what was in front of the camera but also chronicle my thoughts and emotions in a way not otherwise possible.

Pond Scum at TAG

Two photographs from my Pond Scum series (Pond Scum #10 and Pond Scum #14) are currently on display at the Trumbull Art Gallery in Warren, OH. The photographs are part of the 43rd TAG Annual Juried Exhibition which opened tonight with a reception and runs through September 22. The show was juried by Christopher Ryan of the Hiram College Art Department.

Project Pond Scum

I currently have undertaken two long term projects photographing the Campbell's Farm and Shenango River Lake areas. I anticipate both taking years to complete. Recently I'd been reading some Brooks Jensen, publisher of Lenswork, and had determined that it was time I found something I could focus on and complete in the short term. About that same time I had been admiring the work of Paula Chamlee. She produced a whole series of photographic closeups of a soaped up window while traveling in Iceland. It was all very abstract and quite beautiful.

Not long ago a friend who stopped shooting 4x5 inch film gave me his leftover stash of Ilford Delta 100 and Ilford FP4+. It was expired but only by a year and had been kept in a proper environment. I did a couple of tests and counted the film. It was fine and there were over 100 sheets. I also had about 75 sheets of 4x5 inch film myself. Well, expired film and my desire to produce a series in a short amount of time seemed the perfect fit.

I needed something close to home, something that I could work without too much travel so I started looking through some of my photographs. I found one, a close up of pond scum made in 2005, that reminded me of one of Paula's soaped window pictures. A light bulb went off and I decided to start working on a sort of companion to my Cambell's Farm or Thereabouts series, focusing on the algae. At first I planned on making all closeup abstractions. As I started working I was drawn to many of the visual relationships created not only by the pond scum but its surroundings. I've never limited myself to specific types of photographs and felt this was no time to start. I came to the conclusion that as long as algae is somewhere in the frame it was good enough for me.

I plan on shooting all the film over the course of the summer (after which the scum begins to disappear anyway) and prune the images down to the best 10 to 15 ,then release them as a portfolio. I've made and printed 14 different compositions so far though I've used a bit more film than that making backups. The results have been extremely encouraging to say the least. I will be adding a special section to my website and will post the progress over the course of the summer and fall. I think it's important to work with something you know and I've been admiring the ever changing surface of the 6 ponds here for years. When everything falls together as it has for this project, I think it would be foolish not to respond.

Please check www.shawndougherty.com for updates starting later this week. You can view Paula's Abstract Iceland gallery here. I also recommend picking up a copy of Lenswork if you're not yet familiar with it. They produce all the issues in a beautiful duo tone and have some of the highest standards among monochrome magazines.

Grasses in Snow

If there is any single idea that has not only informed my photography but also helped to define it, it is the notion that the real subject of great photographs are visual relationships - the way objects in the picture relate not only to each other but also to the edge of the frame. The implications of that idea are far reaching and were easier, at least for me, to grasp in my earlier days of picture making than the idea itself.

The most profound of those implications, that great pictures can be made anywhere and in any light, was something I relized early and was reinforced by experience. While my images of the Susquehana River and it's bridges were made on a day that was truly exceptional much of my best work has been made in far less fantastic situations.

Not long after my trip to Harrisburg I made the short drive to my favorite area of the Shenango River Lake to look for pictures. The lake is formed by a large dam and the water level had been altered submerging most of my destination under a foot or more of water and forcing me to stop in a small parking lot near the edge of the newly formed shoreline. The sun was low and I had little time to drive somewhere else so I decided to grab my camera and see what I could see. Just across the road was a small grass covered hill. Most of the grasses had succumbed to the blanket of snow but some were still standing and casting shadows many times their length. The effect was incredible and I quickly set up my camera! Not long into the process a truck pulled up beside me and the driver asked what I was doing. I told him I was making pictures to which he laughed and said I must be crazy to take pictures of the ground. He watched for a moment, wished me luck and went on his way.

Without further distraction I was able to work intently in the angular, late afternoon light. I ended up making two exposures. The first being a subtle exercise in asymmetrical tension with a large area of negative space. The second was much more direct and featured a central blade of grass that seem to be presiding over the rest. Both seem to elevate the mundane to quite dramatic effect.

While no one questioned me as I made pictures in the foggy wonderland of Harrisburg a month earlier the lone soul I saw this particular day took me for a fool. I've shown both sets of images to several people and each of the four images seemed to have a similar impact. Aside from coming away with great prints and experiences I learned a valuable lesson those days. It's not what's in front of the camera but the person behind it that determines the success of a photograph.

"Do you paint your fingernails?"

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question... Since I started making contact prints I've been using an Amidol paper developer similar to those used by the Westons and Michael A. Smith. It's a disgusting brew that only lasts about 12 hours once you mix it. Its stains however, last much longer. Days on the skin, forever on your fingernails and trays or whatever else you happen to spill it on. I always made sure not to get my right hand in it so I could still shake without freaking people out. Then why use it you ask ...? It's redeeming qualities made it worthwhile - deep rich blacks, great mid tone separation and amazing highlight detail. For the past couple of years I thought it was the end all be all of paper developers and worth all the trouble.

Well, I decided to do a bit of research on the subject over the past couple of weeks and found several people who where using Ansel's old Ansco 130 formula and comparing it favorably to Amidol. The benefits beyond cleanliness were considerable, 6 month + shelf life once you mix your stock solution and even a couple month life for the working solution in a tray! That meant instead of mixing my precious (read expen$ive) Amidol only when I could commit to printing for several hours I would now be able to keep developer mixed and print when I only had a little time. Well, that was all it took and I ordered myself the chemicals and mixed a batch tonight.

I ended up making a finished print of one negative and it is washing as I type this. I chose a negative with tons of contrast, deep shadows, bright highlights and it even had the sun in the frame. The print came out beautifully and the developer was active enough to allow a slight contrast reducing water bath. Now I obviously need to see the print dried down and do a few more tests before I officially switch but things sure look promising and after a couple months of fingernail growth you might not be able to tell I ever used dirty old Amidol.

Untitled #1

I recently decided to embark on a second long term project, photographing the Shenango River Lake and it's surroundings. The lake was created in 1965 when the Army Corp of Engineers built the Shenango Dam. The lake displaced my mother and her family, forcing them to move to a neighboring community. I've spent much time there myself - picnicking when I was young - night swimming, fishing and boating as I grew older. It's a comfortable and meaningful place for me to work and it is in a constant state of flux as the water level changes frequently.

I drove there after work last Wednesday with my 4x5 camera and after a hour or so found this wonderful group of sticks protruding from the water. I had one sheet of film left which I quickly used. I felt there was more there than I was seeing and decided to return the following night with the 8x10 camera and more film.

The next night I drove straight to this place and, being earlier, there was more light on the water. I began setting up to the dismay of a young family watching their son swim a few hundred yards to my right. I couldn't help overhear their conversation which did eventually lead to a consensus: the big green thing was a camera, like Ansel Adams used, and I must be crazy taking pictures of sticks in the water...

Once I was set up I quickly forgot about everything else and began working under the dark cloth. After repositioning the tripod a couple of times I found a perspective that isolated the sticks and reflections. From this new position the scene took on the look of a flock of birds in flight! I quickly tightened down the camera, loaded a film holder and took a meter reading. There was only a stop and a half difference in brightness between the top and bottom of the water, little enough I knew I could print it evenly. I waited for the wind to still, pulled the lens cap for 5 seconds and just KNEW I had something.

A printing session on Saturday confirmed my excitement as the photograph was fairly easy to make and looked even better than I had hoped. From those I've shown so far the appeal is wide. It's incredibly satisfying, the feeling that I have really created something new and not merely recorded what was in front of me. Of course I can't help but wonder what the family at the lake would think of it.

You can view a larger version HERE.

Keeping up with the Equipment!?!?

I haven't sat down and pushed myself to write an essay on using traditional photographic processes yet. It's important and quite frankly I'm not sure I'm ready to do the subject justice. However, something happened this week that got my wheels spinning enough to mention. I received my Summer issue/copy/whatever of the giant B and H Photo/Video catalog.

It wasn't that long ago that I myself worked at a camera store, then as a digital product and wedding photographer. I knew all the brands, the latest hardware and software, and usually what the next big thing was going to be. Here I am only a couple years removed from the digital scene and suddenly almost everything is new to me. Now, I could probably jump back in and work my way through the learning curve if I was so inclined but it makes me wonder about artists choosing to work in that medium.

History shows that many if not most great artists have worked for a time to become proficient with their chosen tools, feel comfortable with them, allow them to become an extension of their vision... and then use them to create. I wonder how one can ever really become comfortable with a technology that is so volatile and ever changing as digital imaging?

When I bought my last digital camera a newer, better and fancier model had been released long before I could claim operating it was second nature. I now use 8x10 and 4x5 view cameras that were made in the 1960s. I'm quite comfortable with their operation and am free to concentrate on art making. Sure, I could handle a few more lenses and film holders but nothing major and it won't be that long until I won't need ANYTHING else. Just film, paper and chemicals to create my photographs. As long as those materials are around I can focus on improving my art and craft and not merely keeping up with the latest technologies. Isn't that what's really important in art?

Now I realize there are plenty of people out there more intelligent than I is who can surely keep pace without breaking a sweat while others are simply different... to each his own and that's fine. I for one will stick with traditional materials, learn to use them intuitively and become a better artist for it.

Assigning Value to Beauty

As we move about our daily lives we interact with the world around us based entirely on information provided by our senses. We evaluate, consider and retain this information on both conscious and unconcious levels. We then use it to make decisions. All of our decisions. If I feel a raindrop while I'm getting out of my car I may grab the umbrella out of my trunk. If I open a gallon of milk and smell an unpleasant odor I pour it out and buy more. While not every response is as directly reactionary all conscious decisions are based on information gathered by observing something or someone in some way. Even if we recieve complex verbal or written advice it must pass through the filter that starts with our senses and ends with our thoughts.

Consider the following: "We deal with the universe abstractly, as images and concepts created by our mind. We organize our lives around ideas, words, and other abstractions that never equate with reality. Because abstractions are about the world but not of it, they are always subject to interpretation, a process unavoidably dependent upon how our subjective mind has organized its accumulated experiences." Butler Shaffer

This idea can lead anywhere from simply reevaluating perspective to the fictionalized tale of The Matrix, where control of our senses is used to determine our perception of reality. Once this realization has occured it seems to beg the question: If everthing in our lives is based entirely on our senses why is it so many take them for granted? Sure, we use them to navigate our way through life but what about appreciation for the act of observing in and of itself? Who really stops to smell the flowers and how often? When was the last time you reveled in a warm summer rain? Where were you the last time you stopped everything just to sit back and admire the view or closed your eyes and just enjoyed the sound around you? Maybe the most important question is how much time each day have you alloted for such things? Or more succinctly, what value have you assigned them? As humans it's natural for us to identify something we value so what name do we ascribe the vivid sensations and emotions brought about by direct observation? At their best, I think of them as beauty.

Being a photographer and someone who is enamored with light, I revere visual beauty in all it's manifestations. While I spend considerable time photographing, crafting and viewing art I also travel the back way home from work more often than not. It takes less than 5 minutes longer but leads me through residential and rural areas as opposed to business and commercial zones and their ubiquitous American franchises. I know several people who travel to and from the same general areas and none of them take my route. Why? Because it takes 5 extra minutes and measures a couple of extra miles.

What is done with those extra minutes that makes the less pleasant course worth driving? People like to talk about how that time adds up and you can save hours or days by traveling the most direct route. While saving hours or days over time sounds exciting and romantic the reality is, unlike milage on an automobile, those minutes are not cumulative. They cannot be saved and added together for future use. You must live each moment as it comes and 5 minutes isn't very long... Hell, you just spent 5 minutes reading this.

Vernal Equinox

Tomorrow marks the first official day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere as daylight finally catches up with the night. It's always a special day for me as I look forward to warmer weather. The real first day of spring, however, usually doesn't fall in line with the equinox and this year was no exception. By real I mean the first day it feels like spring and not just to me... The first day a magical something in the air besides sunlight and warmth makes itself known.

It happened last Sunday in my neck of the woods. Fishermen were wading Neshanock Creek, Amish children playing in their yards and melting snow was quickly being replaced with mud. The local Dairy Queen bustled with the young and old alike, motorcycles and bicycles competed with cars for thier share of the road and for the first time in the new year winter's frozen grip on life began to weaken. Maybe the most notable effect of that first thaw is it's mellowing of people. Passersby smile and nod, some even stop to talk. Drivers seem to be more tolerant and there is a general feeling of contentment everywhere you go.

Whatever the magic it will linger for awhile, like the snow piles and ice but won't last long, certainly won't see April through. Slowly it will be replaced by summer or thoughts of it. Nobody really notices the transition, probably won't come to mind again until the next equinox. By February it will be hard to think of anything else.

Trees

While I generally consider my subject matter to be the visual relationships created by objects, light and perspective there seem to be some things to which I'm repeatedly draw. Chief among them are trees. Photographing trees in any manner is nothing new though trees themselves are always unique and changing from season to season, year to year and place to place.

Nothing in nature more eloquently reflects the passage and spirit of life. In trees I've found the movement of lightning, the wrinkles on my palm and an engaging symbolism in thier constant struggle against gavity and toward light and water. Patience, perseverance and power are represented well in trees. I've marvled in the rugged dignity of an acient bristlecone pine, played under the cool shade of a massive oak and stood under the still and quite branches of a snow covered evergreen. Each variety has it's own traits and each specimen it's own story.

Trees' visceral growth and stoic journey through time are a continual influence on me. I suppose connecting with something so vital to our own survival is quite natural. Trees are at once givers of life through thier production of oxygen and alive themselves, actively seeking thier needs in mulitple manners and directions. I'll never tire of thier visual qualities or spiritual manifestations.

Cracked Ice and Branches

I made this exposure in February of 2005. For some reason or another it kept getting pushed back in the printing rotation until last Friday, 2 years later.

I remember that day quite well. The weather had been bitterly cold for some time and was just begining to warm up. It was a weekend, Saturday I believe, and I decided to take a ride to Shenango River Lake. There is one main bridge that crosses the lake at one of it's thinnest points and continues for some distance as a causeway. After crossing to the north you can drive back along the western side for a few hundred yards. I did this and got out when I feared my little truck would get stuck if I went any farther. I'd never been to this sliver of land between causeway and lake before and decided to explore. I packed up and walked for some time admiring the ice covered water to my right. I set up my camera once along the way but wasn't inspired to make a picture.

As I was nearing the bridge and end of the penninsula the ground became covered with large sheets of ice and frozen snow. It was creaking underfoot while I made my way along and suddenly I came upon a sweeping crack between two large plates immediately in front of me. The plate on the left had been saturated with water at some point and was considerably darker than the one beside it. I quickly set up my camera and began working with this extraordinary form. There were a couple of branches laying on the beautifully textured, snow covered ice sheets and I was having trouble eliminating them from the frame. I considered walking around the potential picture space to remove them but was afraid I would further crack the ice. Rather than risk disturbing that beautiful line I tried including them in the frame. Eventually I found a spot where I could incorporate both branches in a way that related to the rest of the image and the line of the crack seemed to take on the shape of the female form. I knew I had something and was excited enough to make a backup exposure. At almost 3 bucks a pop it was not something I normally did.

After getting lost in a shuffle of negatives and intentions I rediscovered them on Friday. I was looking to create a photograph to offer as a new Special Edition print and decided to give it a shot. After finding my base exposure I noticed a finger print in the emulsion of the first negative that showed quite noticably on the print. I nervously checked the back up negative I had made and found it was fingerprint free! I thanked the photography gods I had made a second exposure and continued printing. I worked out a base time of 10 seconds and then burned the negative for an additional 12 seconds while gradually covering the paper from bottom to top. I couldn't be happier with the results and decided to indeed offer it as my current Special Edition print.

Composition: The Subject

As most modern Americans, I've been taking pictures the majority of my life, though I began photographing seriously when I was 19. Of all the pictures made since then very few have survived my editorial process, hardly any from before my 25th year. Those early photographs simply lacked that intangible something which makes a photograph more than a photograph. There are several reasons for this: Age and experience have played a part, though at 28 I'm neither old nor experienced... My tastes have changed over time, as tastes will... I have also worked during that time to reexamine and change the way I see. As significant as all that has been the real catalyst for growth in my photography has come from the way I view subject matter. More precisely, what I view as subject matter.

Years ago my pictures were driven almost entirely by the things I was photographing. I'd take pictures of buildings and trees, people and places. The subjects needn't be bombastic, even then I was visually taken with the everyday. The resulting photographs, however, never seemed to reflect the initial excitement I felt in the field. I was close, but I hadn't arrived.

The solution seemed obvious enough, I needed to get closer, literally, so I moved in and cut out what felt extraneous. Again, the resulting pictures seemed cold and lacked the emotion I had initially felt. I waited for the best light and weather, bought different lenses, different cameras and even different media. Nothing seemed to help.

At this point I felt as though I needed a fresh start. I did the best I could to cast aside my preconceptions about what were the proper subjects, the ideal light, the best conditions and even the right equipment. I set aside my ideas about what a good picture was supposed to be and simply went out photographing. Free from dogma and formula I moved easily through my surroundings and worked when I felt compelled to do so. With no specific subject to render and no context necessary to include I was left with only myself, the camera and my environment. Working in such a manner I was able to concentrate on the relationships between shape and line, texture and tone and at last began producing photographs that seemed to capture the essence and intensity of my feelings.

But what made these photographs different? The pictures still included buildings and trees, people and places... The things in my photographs hadn't changed but my pictures had. It was then that I realised those things weren't subjects at all, only building blocks. The real subjects of my photographs were the way objects related to each other. Visual relationships themselves were the subjects and they were everywhere. Better still, they were constantly changing with the light.

My new found sensibilities brought about other realizations. While light was naturally paramount the type of light was not. After all, it's always the best light to photograph something. My routine was changing as well. Instead of pre-visualizing images and trying to fit them onto the ground glass I was using the camera to explore in a way that's not otherwise possible. I learned to set up when I felt a connection to a place and allow my instincts to guide the composition. I had finally found a way to extract from the world a moment of discovered beauty. The next step was presentation...

Life's Little Explosions

As children we are filled with a certain sense of wonderment while navigating through our surrondings. So many things, on a daily basis, are competely new experiences for us. Even the mundane, when unfamiliar, carries with it some degree of excitement. As we age we experience more and more and begin taking things for granted. This is certainly not a new idea, in fact it is an idea that is almost universally recognized. Even the most hardend among us can see a bit of ourselves in the wide eyes of a curious child.

What divides us beyond this recognition is our commitment, and possibly our capacity, to resist the complacency which goes hand in hand with familiarity. No sense is more affected than vision. Most people continue to relish sounds in many forms; music, birds, insects on a summer night, even the still quiet of a snowy afternoon. Who among us doesn't delight in the soft touch of a lover, the comfort of a hot fire or cool relief of the swimming pool? As modern Americans our love of food and it's smells are evident by our collective waistline. Our vision, however, often requires a remarkable expanse of ocean, our contries grand vistas or Hollywood's special effects to ellicit the same types of response. Or, at the very least, something new.

The best comparison I've drawn is the process of reading. As we learn, it's all syllables and sounds, words relating to each other in rhyme and tone, in measure and meaning. The more comfortable we become with the written language the more automatic the action and suddenly we're reading by mere assimilation.

In this way I parallel photographer and poet. Neither seem to tire of the building blocks of thier trade, of vision and words. As a teenager it was a writer and friend that opened my conscious mind to that with which I was struggling on a more subconcious level. She wrote the following in a letter.

"Today was slow; normal system of wake, work and home - perfectly unremarkable if not for some stolen glimpses of beauty - like when Dad pulled the car under a sprinkler and the water just glowed on the windshield and suddenly everything was beautiful. I love it when life just explodes like that!"

Those words struck a chord with me, aroused something that was struggling to stay significant, to stay awake. It was at this time that my battle for control, quite literally, of my vision began. What a meaningful and rewarding endevour it has been. In the words of Edward Weston, I was learning to see "through one's eyes and not with them", to open my mind to the subtle and transient beauty made manifest by the perpetual play of light and shadow in the everyday.

While rewarding in itself, learning (or perhaps re-learning) this manner of seeing is only the first step in becoming a photographer. Much like the poet, recognition of the potentiality is only the beginning, next comes the composition and the presentation...

Why BLOG?

I've choosen to start a web log for a few different reasons.

Firstly, whenever I show prints or scans I'm asked questions about why I choose to photograph many of the things people percieve as my subjects, how I go about the act of photographing with a view camera or with the small camera at night, and of course what drives me to photograph in the first place. I hope over time this blog will help to answer those questions in a way I cannot with a few spoken words.

Secondly, I already keep a journal but haven't written as much or as often as I would like. I hope the act of writing this public version of a journal will keep me motivated to write more for myself.

Thirdly, I enjoy reading the ideas and musings of those artists whose work I admire and wish to offer a similar window into my own thoughts about photography... And of course give people a reason to return to and become involved in my website (and perhaps buy a print!).

Finally, I find the process of organizing my thoughts into words to be extremely cathardic and equally valuable in finding creative direction.