After a few years with the Leica M system, I felt it was time for a change. The experience has been wonderful so far. It's the best blend of new features and technology, and classic camera design and function.
]]>“I wanna be a photographer, just like my uncle.” – Jade, 2009
I was fortunate growing up, in that I have parents that supported almost every harebrained interest I could come up with. As long as it didn’t involve personal injury or property damage, I had their support. Believe me, some of those interests were really harebrained too! Thanks Mom & Dad.
I remember the day I said the above words to my Dad. I guess he and Mom had gotten used to me and my never-ending schemes, as he simply went back into his bedroom closet, returning with a camera bag, and said “Okay, here you go.”
That simple moment, twenty-five or so years ago, was the beginning of my passion for this art form, and seldom does a day go by when I don’t think about creating images. Photography has always been like a close friend to me, there for me during the roughest of storms and the sunniest of days.
My niece, Jade, has the same sense of wonder and imagination that I do, and I’ve done all that I can in her ten young years to support and encourage that. I love that about children. They have the ability to live a lifetime in a single day, and have a limitless supply of energy that I’d pay money as an adult to tap into sometimes.
It was a painfully hot day in August 2009. I was at a family gathering in South Carolina, and took the opportunity to do something I very rarely do, take photos of people. Despite the heat and humidity, I couldn’t have been happier, as I hadn’t seen some of my family in years, and was making some great images on top of that.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Jade, who’d declared herself my ‘photo helper’, said the words above, looking off into the field as if she were contemplating her future. I was instantly taken back to that day when I said something so similar to my Dad, and to his response. History repeats itself. So I simply handed my camera to her and said “Okay, here you go.”
She took to it like a fish to water, and all I could do was beam with pride. She took quite a few images, showing a natural ability to make great compositions and choose that ‘decisive moment’ to click the shutter.
Pay it forward. Do the good that was done unto you to another. But take extra time to do so when it comes to children. The simplest of acts by you keep that sense of wonder in them alive. And in turn, they may help you to rediscover some of your own sense of wonder.
People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel – Unknown
If one of the measures of a person is how well they treat others, Miss Palmer is one of those people we should strive to emulate.
August 2009 was hot in South Carolina. It was the kind of heat and humidity that made you want to shower after walking only a block, where all you can think of is finding the slightest bit of shade and coldest drink available.
While there visiting family, my mother and I spent a day in Charleston, touring the city and its famous markets. I was especially interested in seeing the baskets made out of sweetgrass, the artisans who craft them, and perhaps getting some good photographs of the whole experience.
I’ll never know for sure if it was the extreme heat or the throngs of tourists that made all the other vendors as inhospitable as they were, and really don’t care. It was Miss Palmer who made the day in Charleston so memorable.
She had the smallest stand of them all. Wedged between the other vendors as she was, one could have walked right by and never noticed her. I’m glad we did however, as she treated Mom and I like we were lifelong friends, making us feel more like we were sitting at home on her porch than in a bustling marketplace.
She couldn’t learn enough about us, or share enough about herself and her craft. Just like her children to whom she was teaching it to, she patiently showed us how she weaves each piece together, answering our many questions with the enthusiasm of someone who truly loves what she does. She asked just as many to us, her curiosity about our own lives was just as rich.
I’ll always look back on the day with a broad smile, and the reminder that no matter what may be going on in your day, always give time to those around you. You’ll never know how much you may make their day, and lives, more memorable.
The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly – Henry David Thoreau
The sensitive, soft, shy, and the quiet. Sometimes maligned, often times misunderstood. But for those few that may truly know them, the sensitive soul is one whom you may never forget.
They’ll drive you mad at times, being able to see right through to your soul as only they can. But your soul will drive you to them when it seeks to be soothed.
They’ll hear what you say, but listen to what you actually feel.
They may not say what you want to hear, but they will say what you need to know.
You may wish you had more patience while their minds work through every nuance, but you know that the wait will be worth it.
You may feel slighted because they missed your party last week, but still enriched from that long talk over a cup of coffee months (or even years) ago.
You may envy that they can feel the gentlest of breezes, hear each drop of water in a crashing wave, and see each of the rays in a setting sun. But you’ll love them for sharing the depth in those simple moments with you, for in those moments, your own life seemed so much less complex.
The doorway to the sensitive soul is through the mind. The ability to not only hear, but to listen is the key.
Of all the traveling I’ve done, the classic road trip is the most fascinating. You prepare for it as best you can, something new is around every corner and over every hill, and just when you get tired, thinking about how far you’ve come wakes you up, even if just a bit.
Life is just like that, being on a road. The road you’re on is all your own. It may run parallel to those you know, it may intersect with those you meet.
There’s no destination on the road, you only “arrive” at places along the way. You may stay at one place longer than others, either by choice or by need. Some places you choose to stay may be distractions to your journey, while those you stay at by need may have some important lesson to be learned.
In spots, the road may be straight or curvy, rough or smooth. You may even end up getting detoured, still moving, but knowing you’re not on your own road.
You may not keep all that you gather along the way, some you’ll let go of on purpose, some you’ll lose on accident. That’s okay, it was meant to be this way.
Life is a road, and the road you’re on is all your own. Knowing that helps you to navigate through all that you find along the way.
I just returned from spending a few days in Sequoia National Park. It’s my second trip to this magnificent place, and I was able to spend more time in the park, leading to the trip being more about the experience itself than photos of it.
I could fill this post with words about where to stay and eat (okay….breakfast at the Riverview Restaurant & Lounge was phenomenal!), but you can find that information all over the net. No, I only want to talk about one thing. One really big thing.
The Sequoia Tree.
They can grow up to 300 feet. One of the largest is over 100 feet around at its base. Their bark can be up to 4 feet thick and can heal itself from fire damage. And they’re old, upwards of 2,000 years old.
No words, or photos for that matter, can describe just how incredible being in the presence of one of these giants is. And despite that, they can come crashing down for seemingly small things, like the soil beneath them loosening, or weight from winter snow making them top heavy.
The smallest of things can bring down the biggest of things. Sounds a lot like us doesn’t it?
Their size alone makes you realize just how small we really are. The fact that they live so long, enduring so much, makes what we endure in our short time on this earth seem trivial. But that they can be brought down by something so simple really hit home with me as I walked through the Sequoia groves.
Both for yourself, and for those you care for, keep your foundations strong, and never let the burdens of life weigh so much that you come crashing down.
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving – Lao Tzu
I took this about 3 years ago, after a long, hot day of hiking and shooting in Zion National Park. After spending the day in a place like Zion, one might never notice a scene like this, but it’s one of my favorite images from the trip.
How often is it that we go through life, focused more on the destination than the journey? We can get so caught up in where we have to be, want to be, have to do, or want to do, that we seldom focus on where we are.
This short piece is a testament to that. I first thought of this picture a month ago, started writing, and stopped just as quickly, becoming more focused on some other destination. Today, while going through some family photos I’ve been meaning to frame, I came across a print of this image. I don’t even remember making the print. But I couldn’t have found it at a better time, as I needed to recall the story that this photo tells.
I took this on one of those days where I just wasn’t feeling it. That old habit, the one we all succumb to at one time or another, of not being able to see past one’s own nose was in full force. The screaming voices of negative thoughts were winning the day, resulting in me doubting any and everything about myself, enticing me to wallow in the strange warmth of self-pity.
I went out anyway and shot, then culled through the twenty or thirty frames to find this one image. I liked it, but it wasn’t until recently that I’ve come to value and appreciate it much more.
A conversation I had the other day made me realize that the inner strength one uses to get through adversity, do the things they enjoy, and be the person they want to be comes from deep within ones’ subconscious, deep within the soul. It’s the ‘quiet friend’, one who is the most dependable, but acts so subtly that you don’t realize the effect they’ve had until well after they’ve gone. Sometimes, you don’t see the power of inner strength while the adversity is at the forefront of your mind, but much later, after the storm has passed.
Inner strength speaks in a whisper. Tuning out the screaming of the conscious mind, even if only for a moment, allows you to wallow in the deep warmth of the truest of friends.
Once you’ve been doing something for a while, no matter what it is, you start to see how it parallels other aspects of your life. Of all the images I’ve taken, this is one that moves me deeply, no matter how many times I look at it. Like listening to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue for the umpteenth time, it never loses its effect. The image itself moves me because of its haunting beauty and the history of the place. But the lessons I learned in the process are ones that I carry with me to this day.
Sunny Acres Sanitarium was built in 1913, and closed before I was born. I didn’t live far, and subsequently ended up driving by several times a week. I’ll admit that as a child it was pretty spooky, a feeling that carried over well in to adulthood. But I was always intrigued by the place and wanted to explore it. One Saturday morning in the early 90′s, I finally took the chance. My dog Miles and I, along with my camera spent the morning walking around the grounds and snapping photos. The architecture, the ‘vibe’ of the place, the feeling of finally doing something I’d only thought about for so long, all of it was just plain incredible. I only left because I didn’t want Miles to cut his feet on all the broken glass that was strewn about, and I was out of film. I promised myself to return in the following week or so to photograph the place some more.
I never made it back. Life, as it always does if we let it, got in the way. I’d still drive by a few times a week, each time reminding myself I had to return. Then one day while driving by, an army of wrecking balls was tearing the place down.
I always drove by on the way somewhere else, to do something else. Thinking about it now, I can’t for the life of me remember what the ‘else’ was. But I can recall almost every instance I drove past Sunny Acres. I was devastated. Here was something that had been a part of my entire life, albeit an odd one, and it was being destroyed. The handful of frames I shot are now the only physical memory I have of the place. I really don’t have anyone to blame except myself for not visiting again, but I do have that handful of images along with some of Miles taken after that long walk together.
Every time I’ve looked at this image since, I’m reminded to never miss an opportunity when it presents itself. Ever since then, I fiercely treasure the special moments I’ve had, no matter how brief they might have been. And above all, I deeply value every new experience I have, no matter how ordinary it may initially seem.
As weird as it may sound, a decrepit old hospital taught me a valuable lesson that I’ve carried with me through all my dealings with the ‘else’ in life….friends, family, career, etc. A special thanks to all of you with whom I’ve had conversations about the ‘else’ lately. Those chats inspired me to dig up this image and enjoy it again.
I made a promise to myself that 2010 would be the year that I pushed myself photographically, getting out of my comfort zone of the ‘sweeping vista landscape shot’ that I’ve dwelled in for so long. So far, I’ve shot a great series of candid portraits, an air show, and even a wedding. A few weeks ago, I had a chance to shoot at the San Diego Zoo. As fun of an experience as it was, I just wasn’t too thrilled with the images. I did get a small handful that I was ‘okay’ with, but honestly I just got lucky on them.
Stubborn as I am, the experience had been weighing on me since. The problem was, thinking back to an earlier post, I wasn’t ‘there’……I hadn’t gotten myself into the experience enough to capture it well. So today I headed down to the San Diego Wild Animal Park to try again.
Well, I made it ‘there’. Getting up at 6am on a Saturday didn’t really bother me. I should have brought an extra shirt for all the sweating I did, but no biggie. My shoulders are sore from hauling my camera gear around all day, but I’ve got a heating pad.
I sat alone for the a good while watching a California Condor preen itself, only to be rewarded with this view when it was done. It was as if he was impressed with his own work and wanted to show off to me. A few other visitors showed up shortly after, but those precious few moments were all mine.
Patience paid off again watching the elephants, with me being rewarded with this image of babies playing while the adults look on.
You could have heard a pin drop on the viewing platform as we all watched these two play (well, that and the sound of camera shutters tripping like machine gun fire!)
One can’t visit a zoo and not feel conflicted. For here are all these magnificent creatures, on display for us when they should be running wild and free. The logical extension of that thought however is to really look at what happens in the wild…again due to us. Elephants are hunted for their tusks, Gorillas for bushmeat, other species are at risk from our own destruction of their habitats.
That last point stuck with me as I was coming back home. Looking at the absolute disaster in the Gulf of Mexico, due to us (no surprise), entire species are at risk. As I write this, wildlife organizations are doing everything they can to save what is a vital ecosystem both to the animals that call it home, and to the humans that depend on it for their livelihood.
In the end, what is in the mission statement of every zoo in the world hit home with me today. Learning about, and learning to appreciate, the diversity of life in the animal kingdom, our impact on it, and what it’s loss inevitably means to us is a priceless experience that unfortunately gets lost somewhere along the way in our hectic lives.
I became a member of the zoo today.
Since first reading about it when I was young, I’d always wanted to visit Death Valley. It’s one of those places that evokes a feeling of awe when you read about the searing hot temperatures, history, and varied landscape of the park. When I moved out here, I knew I’d finally make it to see this extraordinary place.
Anyone who knows me well knows that almost nothing I do is without some form of comedy or outright weirdness, and this trip was no exception. Occasionally people will wonder why I travel alone most of the time. While I love the freedom and solitude that solo travel can offer, I’m truly never quite alone. My good friend Murphy, whom you all may know from Murphy’s Law is always there with me, quietly waiting for his moment to make the trip more ‘interesting’.
For starters, Murphy made sure I visited Death Valley, one of the hottest places on earth, on the coldest weekend recorded in over a decade! Now, I’m from the midwest. I know cold. Cold isn’t a problem. Cold, combined with wind so strong you have to lean into it? Well, that’s another story. I was miserable! Taking the wind chill into account, it was in the mid 20′s most of the weekend. It did increase to a sweltering 32 degrees by Sunday as I was leaving the park though. Great.
Despite the cold, the shooting was excellent. But I guess the cold was bringing out Murphy’s most mischievous side. As I was preoccupied with framing a shot in the ghost town of Rhyolite, I met the Black Tailed Jackrabbit. Now, I pride myself on doing my homework before I visit a place, knowing what to expect and be careful of when it comes to local wildlife. But I’ll be man enough to admit that my earlier statement about “meeting” the jackrabbit isn’t completely honest. The rabbit jumped out of the bushes about ten yards away and absolutely scared the crap out of me. These guys can grow to about two feet tall, have seven inch ears, and can reach speeds of over forty miles an hour.
Yes, I had the crap scared out of me by a giant bunny rabbit. Thanks Murph. Jackass.
The shooting day finally finished, it was time to check into my hotel, grab some dinner, and get some much needed rest. I had a reservation at the Panamint Springs Resort. In order to use “resort” in the name, the owners had to take creative license to the extreme. I’d describe it as eerily reminiscent of the Bates Motel, maybe with better landscaping. After checking in and dropping my bags in the room, it was time for dinner. Upon leaving the room, I was greeted by a black cat at my door, just staring at me. I’m not one for superstition, but in retrospect the cat was a harbinger of what the rest of my trip might bring me.
I will give the Panamint Springs Resort some credit here. The steak I had for dinner ranks in the top 5 of greatest steaks I ever had. If you’re ever in the area, I’d highly recommend stopping for dinner.
Well fed, satisfied with my day of shooting, still laughing at myself over the bunny rabbit, it was time to get some sleep. Perhaps if I’d decided to stay up, the evening might have turned out differently. Because at this point I became aware of the fact that walls at the palatial Panamint Springs Resort are only about a quarter inch thick. And my neighbors were having the time of their lives, singing along to recordings of the Beatles from the Ed Sullivan Show.
After the show was over, they began a deep conversation about how in love they were with each other. I’m thinking to myself “Oh no…they’re gonna do it…..noooo!!!” Fortunately for me, they didn’t. But as the man fell asleep, he began snoring with the fury of a runaway freight train.
Off-key singing and sharing of intimate conversation by people who haven’t heard the term “inside voices”, followed by freight train snoring? Thanks Murph.
Finally, the snoring subsided enough for me to at least catnap. But now it was quiet enough for me to realize that the room heater, which only provided heat if you were six inches from it, popped rhythmically like a dripping faucet. And the light outside my room turned itself on and off every ten seconds or so.
Somewhere around 5 am….while still enjoying the snoring, popping heater, and possessed light outside, that oh-so-adorable black cat returned to my door, adding it’s own blood curdling meow to my sensory experience.
Again, thanks Murph. Really. I mean it. You really made this trip one of the most ‘interesting’ ever!
Jackass.
Murphy’s available if anyone would like a traveling companion. Just let me know.
I’ve been thinking about this image lately. Not because of the photo itself, but for the events surrounding my making of it.
My road trip to Mojave was one of the first I took after moving to California. Coming from the midwest, I was, and still am, continually amazed by the landscape here in the west. I’d spent the day driving down empty desert roads, photographing everything I saw, reveling in the experience of it all.
What struck me most is the silence of the desert. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never experienced it, but it’s almost frightening at first. Even living in the suburbs, we’re always surrounded by the constant hum of the city. Out in the desert, it’s so quiet you actually can hear yourself think.
This is one of the last images I took that day, just before sunset. My memory cards were full, the camera batteries were low, I was tired, and really ambivalent about returning home. I decided that at least I’d stay and watch the sun set before getting back on the road.
As I was leaning against the car, staring at the last few rays of light, a pack of coyotes nearby started calling each other. With the way sound carries out there, I’ll never know how close they actually were, and really don’t care. What matters more is just how melodic their calls were, as if I alone was being given a private concert by the pack.
I ended up staying long after those last few rays of light, enjoying my little concert. It made that long trip back I was so dreading much more bearable.
Photography can be an intensely technical endeavor. Everything from the equipment, to making a photograph, to processing a print can leave one feeling like they need a degree from M.I.T. just to say they understand it!
But photography is so much more than that. For me, it’s about being ‘there’. It’s becoming so connected with a subject that it becomes a part of me. That connection gives me an understanding of what I’m photographing, and that understanding gives me the patience to take all the time necessary to photograph it.
Being ‘there’ means that I don’t fret so much when waking up at oh-dark-thirty to meet the sunrise, or staying long after everyone else has gone to catch the magic of twilight. A lot of the work that goes into a photograph can be daunting, but when the subject is a part of you, it just doesn’t matter.
Whatever it is that you do….be ‘there’ while doing it.