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.