When Square can be a bit... Square.

As some of you have been kind enough to remind me =) I have neglected the website and this blog since late last fall. I have not, however, neglected my work. There are many new photographs to post and a good bit of writing as well.

My Little Things project has been my primary focus lately and we will begin again with that. Making these 2 1/4 contacts has proven to be a real challenge, due primarily to working with the new to me square format. As the shape of the picture space itself is neutral, it provides no real movement of it's own - no entry point, no release, no direction - that is left entirely to the artist. Over the last couple of years I have become comfortable with this, though as with anything else, I've discovered it's not always the best choice. Some visual elements simply cry out for a horizontal edge or a vertical gesture.

I was made even more aware of this a couple of weeks ago while looking through a stack of 'small prints' by Paula Chamlee. When photographs are printed at such a diminutive size the structure of the composition becomes more evident and, to my eyes, even more closely related to the borders. My next step seemed clear enough, it was time to start making small rectangular prints as well.

The above image is my first attempt. While texture is quite obviously the most important aspect, there is a gentle flow across the picture space which leads the eye from the top left to the bottom right corner and back again. This is made possible not only by the darker threads' relationships to each other, but also (and maybe even more so) through their interplay with the elongated top and bottom edges.

As an exercise, and partly to prove a point to myself, I have tried cropping the image to a square several different ways and with each attempt have found the result lacking in comparison to the original. I'll no doubt be viewing the ground glass a bit differently now and while my final decisions are largely intuitive I've also learned that once something is seen it is not so easily unseen.

And if you must know, it's light emanating through a lampshade.

Nelson Ledges, Ohio

9/19/09 Seven minutes into a twenty minute exposure. Nelson Ledges.
Gunshots permeate the air, overpowering the gentle gurgle of the waterfall disappearing down the deep stone ledges to my left. To my right a cross tied with a bouquet of week old flowers tells the story of someone's love and someone else's last hour. Mankind's shadow is cast wide over this place. Graffiti is rampant. I am unable to fathom how anyone could take a can of spray paint to these primeval walls... young... troubled... I can find no reasonable explanation for such a perversion of beauty. This ancient place of stone may seem immune to time but certainly is no match for fools.

If Tim Burton Carved a Pumkin...

...I thought it might look a bit like this. A couple of years ago I did some work shooting leaves on my light table with a single overhead light to keep things simple. The recent rain and the passing of the Equinox and subsequent diminishing daylight hours have driven me back inside. As most of my work is found in "nature" and arranged on the ground glass, being able to move the objects I'm photographing as well as the camera has been a bit overwhelming and exciting at the same time. Of course I can't help but wonder what Edward Weston might have come up with had he more than a funnel and window light to work with when he was stuck in the studio waiting for customers... Oh, if you're wondering what exactly this is...? It's a photograph!

Alright... it's my bike helmet.

Visual Bias

For some time now I have had a sort of visual bias against certain subject matter. Be it a waterfall, sunset or nautilus shell these subjects have been photographed again and again. At the same time I have held the belief that visual relationships in the context of my own personal experience is the real subject matter of my work. In other words, it doesn't matter what is photographed but how, when, and by whom it's photographed.

So, carrying this prejudice against cliched subject matter around with me not only conflicts with my most fundamental beliefs as an artist but also interferes with my ability to openly and honestly interpret the world around me. Photographically speaking, I aim to become an equal opportunity seeker of beauty and whether I'm focused on the fungus laden interior of a decaying stump or the powerful grace of a woodland falls, what's important is being open to the possibilities they each present. Both have been photographed before, but not in this moment, and never by me.

Tularosa, New Mexico

This photograph, from a Tularosa Cemetery, was my last on a March trip to Arizona and New Mexico. It was the 18th exposure I'd made with my 8x10 view camera that day and the second sheet of film in my final holder. While my traveling companions generously offered me use of their extras I was simply out of gas and ready to relax and enjoy my surroundings.

Later on we found our way to a hill top in the middle of the Tularosa Basin where the moment moved me to capture what I could, but this time with a pen and my trusty Moleskin.

3/10/09 Sometime in the late afternoon. Valley of Fires.
A young man plays his guitar and sings with quiet, brooding emotion as I look east from a perch atop the Tularosa Valley. Mount Carrizo looms large in the distance while the sun glistens off the snow shrouded peak of his big brother, Sierra Blanca. A soft breeze adds a slight chill to an otherwise warm and sunny day. The valley's yellow grasses come alive, blazing against the black lava strewn about me by some ancient event, still evident so many years later. Time has slowed to a crawl and troubles seem far away, nearly forgotten in the simple splendor of this moment. Sunshine and song reign supreme here. Even the yuccas pay homage, raising their many hands in worship and warmth. It's hard to imagine leaving this place... so many promises to keep.