Reelin' In The Years

Self-reflection is important. It is also something most of us do in private, if at all. With that in mind, the less I say here about my time back in my hometown, the better. Or at least better for me, as I never wanted to be the kind of person that airs their inner drama in public. (Irony is not lost on me that I’m writing this on a public platform…) Nonetheless, as an artist, part of my drive is to share, otherwise I might as well be building sandcastles on the shoreline, all by myself.

Sifting through decades-old ephemera found in closets and backs of drawers in my childhood home has pushed my inner reflection into overdrive. Spending time with my aging father, while finding little remnants of my younger self has created waves of ennui that wash over me, like low tide on the Atlantic coast. What is there to life but remnants of our past and hopes for the future, bookending the present. The ephemeral present.

Sanctuary

It’s been a hard year so far, and I have not felt grounded at all. Death has come, from both near and far. Work provides a modicum of distraction, but when things get quiet, my mind wanders often through darkness. These days have brought me a deeper appreciation for my studio practice; it truly is my sanctuary. I also find the destruction, the burning, bleaching and taping of my photographs to be even more cathartic than it was in the past…as is expected I suppose.

Apropos, I’ve been listening to a lot of bleak music lately. Lou Reed has made a regular appearance on my playlist. I spent some time with his rather dour album, entitled “Magic and Loss” and though I was very familiar with the record, this time it struck much closer to home for me. I channeled some of his words and thoughts into my current artwork. I’m not sure of the value that these words may add to my images, but for now hanging on my studio wall. They are a reminder that pain does indeed wash into all of our lives, but that we must forge forward regardless.

Goodbye 2022

This has been a year of dabbling, discovery, testing and playing in my studio. I took the foot off the gas pedal as far as self-publishing is concerned, though oftentimes I felt that I was hungry for the tangle direction and demands that those kinds of projects provide. Still, I enjoyed the luxury and privilege of time to tinker with new ideas, without any pressure or expectation from anyone except of myself. I kept myself busy in many ways, large and small, and I take the lessons learned this year with me as I look forward to 2023. I wish health, safety, creativity and peace to all of you in the coming year.

2022: 47 Winding Down

The last, waning days of autumn are very soon going to surrender to winter. The chill in the air has now evolved into true, bracing coldness. The time for quiet reflection is now upon me. Thus, I will take some time away from these pages and turn inwards. Silence can speak volumes.

2022:46 World Cup

Watching World Cup matches precludes my ability to write a full entry this week. Instead, above is a photo I took in Porto, Portugal in 2015.

2022: 45 Alternatives

Alternative photographic processes. Even the name feels a bit of a misnomer. Alternative to what? The centuries old processes may be an alternative to the current world of digital image making, but as an alternative to photographic image making, I take issue with the name. If processes date back to the mid-18th century, why are they not called “primary” processes? This is a futile argument, of course. Only a handful of people would even get riled up over this pithy choice of words. But it speaks to a deeper issue for me. I feel that almost every process I utilize is “alternative.” Perhaps by rejecting the status quo I am acting (creating) in an alternative manner. Whether its toiling with hand coated emulsions, combining my images with more sculptural elements, laying out handmade books, digital manipulation on my iPhone or pouring bleach over a stack of old negatives… every act can be an alternative to something else. It’s what keeps me interested, keeps me curious, keeps me creating.

2022: 44 To The Trees

A long weekend gives me ample time to think about a new project. The draw of nature continues to inspire my photography. A 90 mile drive north and west of Albuquerque landed me in the mountains north of Grants, NM. The forests rise towards Mount Taylor. A perfect place to explore the abundance of trees that somehow continue to exist in a world of threats, both natural and man-made. My camera leads me to this place, my mind pushes me to wander further. Off the dirt road, among fallen trees, under a light dusting of snow… what will be revealed to me?

2022:43 The Blues

Cyanotype week in my studio. Damn right, I got the blues.

2022: 42 Falling Leaves

Autumn is the most beautiful season, in my opinion. Something about the temperature, the light, the scents… and above all, the leaves. Greens give way to red, gold, yellow, orange and brown. Each tree releasing their foliage in one final, triumphant burst of life affirming color. The texture of trees and of leaves has been a current fascination for me. In some ways I think I’m making up for a general disinterest in nature as a young person.

This morning, our mulberry tree in the front yard performed its annual ritual, releasing all of its leaves at once. I laid in bed and stared out the window, watching the leaves flutter to the ground… sometimes one by one…sometimes in clumps. It was a peaceful, meditative way to start the day and embrace the season.

2022: 41 First Impressions

My wandering path away from straight photography has taken me on a surprising journey. Discovering alternative ways to make imagery has felt more personal, more unique, and certainly more tactile. Case in point: I returned to the Rio Grande bosque this week, an environment I’ve photographed numerous times over the past three or four years. This time, instead of taking my camera, I carried a pad of newsprint and some charcoal for sketching. I don’t possess any real drawing skills (hence my predilection for photography) but I ended up doing a series of relief rubbings, or as the French call them: frottage. Placing paper on rough surfaces of tree bark and cut logs and rubbing with charcoal, I was able to make new images in an environment that I thought had shown me everything it was going to reveal. The act of rubbing also engaged me in ways that went beyond just seeing. There are trails made by bark beetles scattered across many fallen trees in the bosque. Their destructive paths etched onto the stripped trunks of now dead trees. They produce wonderful patterns and textures, and they provided me with a new way to visualize my own path. Twisted, organic, wandering, yet expressive.