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Silence

Monday, April 16th, 2012

I recently returned from my first trip to the Colorado Plateau this year.  After an extremely busy few months, I welcomed the chance to slow down and relax, as well as to revel in the warmth of the spring sun on the red rock.  I went alone.

While I wanted to explore a few areas that I had not been to before, I also wanted to take some time for introspection; growing up as an only child, I have grown to value silence.  After setting up my tent, I took a walk through a piñon-juniper forest that burned several years ago.  As the red ochre-colored hills receded toward the distant cliffs, the lifeless skeletons of these trees stood before me, each one seeming to take on a different, animated, pose.  I sat for a while, admiring the stark and barren, but pleasant scene.  In the West especially, fire is part of our ecology.

A burned pinion-juniper forest in the Kolob Terrace area of Zion National Park, Utah

The burn, March 2012

I often notice that when walking alone, I find myself whispering.  Why not talk to myself at a normal volume, or like some people, take the opportunity to scream out, knowing my confessions will be my own only?  I have never been a screamer, in fact when I have something important to say, you will find me saying it quietly to myself.  I am not sure whether this is a good trait or not, but part of me hates to muddy the already sweet sound of the wild.  On this particular trip, western bluebirds had already moved into the area (a sure sign of spring) and their song is surely better than anything I could say.

Silence.  When I whisper no one answers back.  At the same time, it can be comforting and empty, exciting and lonely.


“I fear silence because it leads me to myself, a self I may not wish to confront. It asks that I listen. And in listening, I am taken to an unknown place. Silence leaves me alone in a place of feeling. It is not necessarily a place of comfort.”

–Terry Tempest Williams


After dinner and a night’s sleep under a blanket of stars, I explore more canyons.  Part of the fun of a trip like this is not having any expectations, taking the time to poke your head into slot canyons, pretending you might find something no one else has ever seen before.  The lack of both a defined plan and a guidebook are two of the best ways to drive creativity in photography, to let your voice be heard.  In silence, I revel at the sky, the clouds moving over the top of me, dappled light falling on sandstone monoliths.

Shadow play.

A sandstone cliff in the Kolob Terrace area of Zion National Park, Utah

Monolithic, March 2012

I spend the afternoon–the next few afternoons–wandering up small canyons alone, admiring the potholes which are full of water from recent rains, watching tadpoles begin to make their transition from aquatic to terrestrial, and confronting the silence head-on.  There is a lot to see in this small corner of southern Utah–I know I will be be back, soon hopefully, for there is a lot left unseen, both in the landscape and in myself.

One of the things that amazes me about silence is that it so boldly opens our souls; this is at odds with the way we close ourselves off in the hustle of our everyday lives.  I am not sure how to reconcile this.  However, I know until I can return to the Colorado Plateau my daydreams will drift to clouds floating in a sky above red sandstone cliffs, of the cool air inside a tight slot canyon, and the way the morning smells when I am waist-deep in sagebrush.

Crossroads

Tuesday, March 20th, 2012

I realize that many of my recent posts have been about life and introspection, and you may be saying, “Hey what happened to the photography?”  Well, I have realized over the last few months that it is impossible to make honest images without first taking a good look at myself.  As a result, my posts have been more philosophical.  Its definitely not a bad thing, as I learn a lot of great things about myself every day.  I hope they come through in my images.


Lying at the crossroads of three major ecosystems, I have always thought Zion National Park is a bit of a confused place.  The Great Basin, Colorado Plateau, and Mojave Desert collide pretty much at the entrance to Zion Canyon, making for a unique landscape of red rock, datura, and ponderosa pines, one that draws thousands of tourists a year.

Lately I have been thinking about decisions, crossroads, and the paths we take in life.  A friend of mine has told me several times that each sunset gives us an opportunity to reflect on our decisions, and each sunrise is a chance to either change them, or stay the course.  The more I think about it, that’s a good way to look at life.  A few months ago, David Leland Hyde guest-blogged for me and wrote about the decisions we make as photographers.  Are we to make our own tripod tracks, letting the world hear our unique voice, or are we to make the derivative iconic images that have been made before?  Is that truly original?

I think there’s more buried in David’s post than there initially appears to be.  What I am realizing more every day is that my decisions as a person shape who I am as a photographer–these two things are not mutually exclusive.  My images are my voice; through them you see the world as I do.  To some extent, you see sadness, elation, and melancholy in my portfolio.  I can feel the days that creativity is flowing inside of me; its like a warmth deep in my bones.  Terry Tempest Williams wrote, “To discount wild beauty is to discount inspiration.  Without inspiration, creativity dies.”  This must surely mean that with inspiration, creativity can thrive–we can choose to accept beauty, and thus to be creative.  Our choices affect us deeply and they shine through in our body of work.

The junction where we find Zion Canyon is arguably one of the more beautiful places in North America.  There is a lot of solace here, knowing that each decision we make has the potential to be very positive, both for our general character, and for our art.  What we do with that knowledge is up to us.

Half-bare Fremont Cottonwood trees in Zion National Park, Utah

At the crossroads, November 2011

 

My Head In the Cloud

Monday, February 20th, 2012

Its either the romantic or Zen Buddhist in me, but I feel like we have a lot to learn from clouds.  A dramatic sunset can connect two lovers, just as it teaches us a valuable lesson on impermanence.  In thinking about our motivations, inspiration, and voice these analogies can make a lot of sense to an artist.  To understand my photographic ‘voice’ a little better, I turned to another type of cloud.

I recently generated a word cloud based on what I think are a few of my representative blog posts in order to gain a better understanding of my own writing and photography.  Click the cloud to see it larger.

word cloud showing Alpenglow Images' most popular posts

Some words immediately jump out at me and catch my eye.  Canyon.  Light.  Hope.  Utah.  Shapes.  Life.  Believe.  Sandstone.  Bryce.  National.  Park.  

Why these words?  The cliffs and canyons of the Colorado Plateau are a constant source of inspiration and creativity for me.  Perhaps its all the hours I spent there early in my life, but now when I need to mourn or celebrate, feel the need for safety and security, am lacking humility, or simply need to escape, I find solace in the red rock wilderness I have come to know so well.

Places like the Kaiparowits Plateau or the Vermillion Cliffs are still wild, largely undiscovered.  Sometimes, when I look at them in the distance, I wonder whether humans have ever seen all the features there are to be discovered here.  I continue to entertain what may be a naïve hope by believing these landscapes will continue to be protected and loved as they are now, that they will remain unchanged, and give my children and grandchildren a place to visit, possibly even to bring their children someday.


In order to photograph a landscape and capture more than just its superficial beauty, it is my belief that you must first know it, study it, learn about its intricacies and nuances.  In my own development, I learned by studying the locations others had visited–by doing homework from a desk chair.  But as I slowly grew to learn the places that I call home, my voice started to be heard through my images.  To an extent, gear matters, but taking off your gear goggles and focusing energy on introspection and self-evaluation is a start down the road of making truly personal images.

By looking at my cloud, perhaps I didn’t learn anything about myself I don’t already know.  However, by studying the words I use over and over again, perhaps, I can learn a little more about my voice, and most importantly what I want my photography to say to the world.

What does your cloud say about you?  About your photography?

Colorful sandstone in Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

Layers of Sandstone, January 2012

Finding John Muir

Wednesday, February 15th, 2012

This morning, I saw the trailer for a new documentary on the John Muir Trail, “Mile…Mile and a Half.”  It looks like it will be worth a look when it comes out, and I hope I’m able to see it on the big screen.

In 2010, a friend and I hiked approximately the last 1/3 of the JMT, from Devil’s Postpile National Monument to Yosemite Valley.  The scenery is spectacular, showcasing some of the finest peaks in the High Sierra.  Of course, we passed the classic views of the Ritter Range, like Banner Peak, as well as the outstanding Yosemite high country.  The Cathedral Range in Yosemite was among my favorite scenery of the whole trip–the rugged Echo Peaks and Mathes Crest are beautiful.

Our plan was to hike the rest of the JMT, but my friend’s bad knee has pretty much taken him out of the game.  I am now thinking of ways to complete the trail, possibly even by doing it from the beginning in classic through-hike fashion.  There’s something really special about getting in rhythm with the mountain range, and creating your own adventure.

Check out the trailer, which I’ve embedded below.  Hopefully it inspires you to find your own adventure.

MILE…MILE & A HALF (trailer) from The Muir Project on Vimeo.

Birth Day

Tuesday, January 24th, 2012

Almost four years ago, I watched as my son was born, and have been witness every day since as he’s discovered the world.  Although there are some perceptions of the world we’re born with, we, to a large degree, come into society as a clean slate.  We experiment, learning what works and what doesn’t, we form relationships and opinions.

Yesterday, I celebrated my thirty-third birthday.  I feel fortunate to have a comfortable life, an education, a healthy family, and to have experienced some of the most amazing places on this planet.  Yet, even after thirty three years, I’m surprised at how much I still have to discover about myself.  It seems that the best relationship I continue to form is with myself.  During the course of my life, I’ve known joy, love, and have sadly been confronted with loss.  I guess you could say I’ve lived a full life, and although I still have much to learn, I do know a few things without question.

Some of my most life-shaping decisions have involved not settling for ‘good enough,’ forcing me to go in search of ‘can’t live without.’  Never settle.  Keep looking for it, whatever it is, until you find exactly what you’re looking for.  You’ll know it when you find it.

For me, the wilderness has always been a place to heal, to recover from pain and loss.  For many of us, this is true.  If that’s the nature of loss, what then do we do to confront the loss of nature?  We have to ask ourselves this question seriously, and come up with viable, thoughtful, and long-lasting responses.  With each passing year, our time to provide a lasting legacy grows shorter.

Finally, a contemplative question.  Yesterday on Facebook, someone sent me a birthday wish that really caught my attention: “Don’t know you personally, but know you through your photos. Not much difference, I don’t think.”  I know that in my art, it has become increasingly important for my voice to be heard.  What does your art say about you?

I haven’t always been able to say this, but in my thirty-third year, I rather like the person I’m getting to know.

Colorful Sandstone at Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

Sandstone Kaleidoscope, January 2012

 

Make Your Own Tripod Tracks by David Leland Hyde

Monday, December 19th, 2011

I am really happy to have David Leland Hyde of Landscape Photography Blogger as a guest author today on my blog.  David and I struck up a friendship via our blogs a little over a year ago and I’ve grown to really appreciate his advice and commentary, through his blog posts and emails, on life and photography.  His essay today is inspired by conversations he and I have had over the last several months.  Also, today, I’ve concurrently posted an essay entitled, “Moving Past the Repertoire,” on his blog.

In May 2011, Guy Tal relit the torch on an ongoing controversy over photographers “copying” each other with his blog post, “The Art of Copying.”  Why bring along another photographer’s photograph, seek out his or her exact tripod tracks and steal his exact composition?

Some photographers say they do it to learn. Some photographers do it because they like the photograph and want to make their own print without having to buy it. Some say it is more commercially viable to copycat; others are lazy, or greedy. I ask them and you, the reader if applicable, “Why do you copy other photographers? Do you feel it is ethically OK?”

Is it OK to photograph a similar image, but not exactly the same? How far do you go?

Back in May 2010, I wrote Greg Russell and suggested that his image of Mesa Arch, while well executed, could send people a message about his work inconsistent with his intelligent, experienced perspective on the subjects of place, landscape and wilderness.  Greg has mentioned his own process in photographing Mesa Arch, but did not purposely seek out another photographer’s exact composition. He made a photograph at a location that has been photographed many times and can no longer be claimed by one photographer. Can one photographer claim a location? Not the location, but the composition? Yes, no, maybe? Copyright cases in courts across the land have come to differing conclusions depending on the degree and intent of “copying.”

Plateau Edge, Southern Utah, 1964 © Philip Hyde

Plateau Edge, Southern Utah, 1964 © Philip Hyde (Used with permission)

A magazine years ago beat up Tom Till for photographing Mesa Arch with the sunrise like David Muench had. Now dozens if not hundreds of photographers have produced nearly the same image. A photograph of Mesa Arch at sunrise in a portfolio now says, “I am looking for commercial success more than establishing my own artistic vision.” I wrote to Greg that I hoped he would not take what I said as an attack, but as honest feedback and my own opinion that I did not want to hold back from a friend.

I said that I felt that his photographs of a Death Valley sand dune and of Yosemite Valley were strong, but if placed at the top of his blog with Mesa Arch, the group begins to look like the work of every other landscape photographer from the American West.

“Have you ever tried to sell either the Yosemite or the Death Valley image to magazines?” I asked Greg in my e-mail. “I think you might have a tough time. Not because they are bad photographs, but because they have been done before.” Galen Rowell called it “image maturity,” the concept that regardless of the quality of the image itself, editors may have originally perceived it as unique, but today enough images similar to it have been made that it no longer appears fresh and unusual.

“Look at your own portfolio,” I wrote to Greg, and now to you. “Neither your image of Mesa Arch nor your Yosemite Valley image alone would be damning, but paired together, they give the opposite impression from what readers get who dig just a little and see more of your photographs.”

You might say, “Who in the world is this David Leland Hyde guy to give advice?” You may have grounds for wondering. However, in making selections of my father’s photographs I have been talking to many of the top landscape photographers alive today, as well as some of the best photography galleries and museum curators too. I have learned that for the most part the selection of Dad’s work that will be accepted today is very different than it was 30-40 years ago. Some of his most known icons just don’t appeal today because too many other photographers have copied them since their creation.

I could fight this with a big protest such as the obvious fact that Dad made his images first, that his work is timeless and any number of other arguments, but most of it has to do with Galen Rowell’s concept of image maturity. Certain photographs are no longer as new and compelling as they might have been even 10 years ago. I feel we have done a great job with the Philip Hyde site, though there are a number of images on it now that I look at from time to time and realize that they too will have to be replaced by something more uniquely Philip Hyde. It is a difficult task, even a contradiction of sorts, to take a body of work that helped start it all 50-60 years ago, and only be able to use the images that everybody else did not emulate. Once in a while, sparingly, we will use some of Dad’s signature photographs that people are more likely to remember came first.

If you, as a landscape photographer, completely ignore what I have said here, I understand. You are the artist. Even if you agree with it, I wouldn’t necessarily change everything right away. Mull it over. Let it rumble around for a while. I hope it is helpful to you at some point. The rewards of finding your own great locations, of making your own tripod tracks, are far greater than the few dollars in monetary gain from photographs like many others.

I was relieved and happy that Greg responded with gratitude and appreciation, not because he accepted what I said, but because he took it the way it was intended, as honest feedback from a friend who wanted to help him improve the look and presentation of his blog to be more in line with who he is as a person and photographer.

My father said that finding one’s voice is the most important endeavor of all. He was able to make a full-time living as a landscape photographer, which itself was particularly rare then and perhaps will be again the way the industry is going. Most landscape photographers don’t get rich, though some do through extreme commercialization and the production of cliché. Dad would advise other photographers not to be tempted or to waver from seeking quality and the development of their own vision that comes from who they are and what they feel is important to convey about nature.

Mesas and Boulders on the San Rafael Swell, by David Leland Hyde

Mesas, Boulders, San Rafael Swell Utah, 2009, © David Leland Hyde (Used with permission)

In Colorado and many other states, people have little inherent fine art taste and have been marketed into thinking that mediocre over-promoted pretty pictures are the best photography. A certain top Colorado photographer has very little respect outside Colorado because his work consists of primarily post-card type images. He has a 5,000 square foot showroom in Denver, part of which is devoted to another big name from the Southwest. My father called this other photographer’s work “roadside landmark photography.” Many photographers today look up to this photographer as a role model. This shows how fine art standards have dropped. We need to take back photography from the hucksters. While certain photographer’s work sells like hotcakes in Denver, the nearby Camera Obscura Gallery devoted to the classic photography masters recently went out of business. Unimaginative work sells due to the public’s lack of art education. You can choose to either prey upon this ignorance or do your part to introduce quality. Every cliché photograph adds to the problem, and every image you or anyone else puts out that shows something unique and of artistic merit, helps to raise artistic awareness.

In my blog post on Galen Rowell and developing personal style, there is a bit of discussion on these issues in the comments where I mention the work of one wealthy photographer from Australia. If you look at his website, you will see that his images resemble the typical recognizable photograph from each top location, except that the saturation has been amped up and the drama has been increased. Contrast this work with say that of Eliot Porter, Philip Hyde, Michael Kenna, Brett Weston or Carr Clifton. The problem is that many times fine art prints are an impulse purchase rather than an educated purchase.

Any photographer whose website begins to look like they just went around to the “checklist” and checked off various locations will be passed over and dismissed by the best photo editors, serious collectors and the art museums. If your photograph of Mesa Arch is your bestseller, I would ask to whom is it selling? What is the buyer’s knowledge level about art and photography? This is actually a good gauge of your work: what kind of buyer are you attracting? Is your work representing who you are as a photographer, or is it merely what you think people want to buy? Asking these questions and considering your answers carefully can and will completely transform your portfolio and your work. Try it.

Mood and creativity in image processing

Monday, December 12th, 2011

In February, I featured this image as my photo of the month; I took it in Buckskin Gulch, Utah on a cold, icy day.

Ice and sandstone in Buckskin Gulch, Utah

Original Ice Underneath, January 2011

The original scene stopped me because I liked the chilly feeling in the ice, and the way the light was reflecting off the walls of the canyon; the tafoni created an interesting pattern in the flowing rock wall.  In addition, I liked the sensuous line at the rock-ice interface.  However, mostly I liked the contrast between warm and cold tones.

While I was happy with the original edit of the image, I have recently revisited it in an effort to accentuate the feeling the original scene gave me.  With the current state of digital image processing, there are multiple ways to achieve my desired effect.  Guy Tal recently published a great article on understanding white balance; understanding that there can be more than one appropriate white balance within a scene has been immensely valuable to me as my own processing skills have developed.   Ultimately, I chose to use Nik’s Silver Efex Pro to give a slightly cooler color cast to the ice, thus conveying the contrast between warm and cool tones I originally envisioned when I was in the canyon on that cold January day.

Ice and sandstone tafoni in buckskin gulch, utah

Ice Underneath, rework, October 2011

While today’s cameras do an excellent job of capturing the “information” in a scene, there is still work to be done in bringing out the full potential in a scene during post-processing.  What are some of your favorite techniques in doing this?

Incidentally, my friend Guy Tal does have an excellent and in-depth e-book devoted to this subject; you can read more about it at this link.  Note that I’m not a member of his affiliate program, so I get nothing more than good karma if you purchase the e-book.

Photo(s) of the Month–November

Friday, November 4th, 2011

I think this is the first time since beginning this blog I’ve broken from my Photo of the Month tradition.  Its not really for lack of wanting.  The truth is, I have had trouble deciding on just one image.

Instead I’ve decided to share a few new images that I’ve been working on, all with a common theme:  long exposure.   In the right situation, a long exposure provides extra time for either the camera to move, or elements within the frame to move (like clouds or water), adding unique drama to a scene.

First, I recently purchased an 8-stop neutral density filter.   I’ve wanted one for quite a while, after seeing some great long exposure work from other photographers.  Mac Danzig has a great tutorial/informational blog post on them here.  I waited for a stormy morning with dramatic skies to try it out at a local beach, with some great rock formations.  The rock in the second image reminds me of a molar from a Pleistocene-epoch carnivore…

Stormy morning at Little Corona Beach, Newport Beach, California

Stormy morning, November 2011

A clearing storm at Little Corona Beach, Newport Beach, California

The sea's jaws, November 2011

In addition to letting the scene move, interesting effects can also be achieved by moving the camera while the shutter is open.  Zoom blurs have become more popular over the last few years, but I added another element.  In addition to zooming the lens during the exposure, I also rotated the camera.  The subject I chose to try this out on is California buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum foliolosum); I have always loved the fall color palette of this plant, but haven’t been able to make an image of I like.  Finally, with this technique–although it won’t appeal to everyone–I feel like I’ve gotten the colors to blend in a way that’s appealing to me.

An abstract image of California Buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum foliolosum)

Hallucination I, October 2011

 

An abstract image of California Buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum foliolosum)

Hallucination II, October 2011

Looking out my window, I think autumn may have finally come to southern California!  I hope you have a great November; in the U.S. its a time we give thanks for many things–what are you thankful for this month?

 

Unsolved Mystery

Monday, October 31st, 2011

It was just another evening in the desert.

My Dad and I, along with another friend, were visiting the Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness along the Arizona Strip for a couple of days of photography and hiking.  Although it was August, the heat wasn’t too bad, if you stayed in the shade during the hot part of the day.  With evening coming on, we emerged like lizards from our burrows to enjoy the final vestiges of our vacation.

The plan was to hike back to an interesting rock formation we had found earlier in the day for some night photography.  After shooting sunset, and moving into position, we waited for darkness to fall.  In August, that happens slowly, so after our cameras were set up, we went for a short hike.

As stars began dotting the sky, returning to “our spot” seemed like a good idea.  Cresting the final ridge, and looking down, we saw a very unusual sight.  The rocks near our equipment were glowing red, and we could see small red lights moving around them very quickly!  Watching in amazement, the lights moved faster and faster, and although we could see no figures, it seemed almost as though the lights were dancing in the evening light.

Almost as soon as they began, the lights disappeared.  For three grown men, it took us a while to get the guts to return to our gear.  Without any discussion at all, it seemed like a good idea to pack up and go.  Although we’d marked GPS waypoints to help us over the two miles back to the car, we didn’t seem to need them, and we sure didn’t look back!!

When I got home, I began looking at the files on my memory card and saw the most curious thing–whatever it was making those lights, also made a few images.  A supernatural photographer?  Perhaps.  I did some homework, and found reference to a group of spirits in the area–los espectros de las animas–the specters of lost souls, who sometimes haunt visitors in the area, although they’re seen rarely.

The next time you venture into the wilderness and think you’re alone, you might think again.  You never know what may be lurking under the cover of evening skies….

Light painting at Dali Rock

Supernatural, August 2011

Happy Halloween from Alpenglow Images!

Overland Flight

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

As we board the homeward bound flight, the sun is setting over the Rocky Mountains, reminding me of my early childhood years living in Denver.  The sunset becomes more intense as the plane is pushed onto the runway, and takes off, leaving Denver International Airport behind.  The beauty of flying westward into the sunset is that it lasts longer–the earth’s shadow and Belt of Venus seem to be eternal, keeping me company as I daydream looking out the window over my sleeping son’s head.

Below us, lights from the small towns of the West are starting to come on.  I wonder what’s happening in those towns on this Friday night; people are relaxing at the bar after a long week of work, teenagers are cruising Main Street looking for something to do.  Despite that, its the empty spots, the growing blackness, that capture my imagination.  I’ve been a passenger on this route enough times to know what’s below me: the foothills of the western slope of the Rockies, the Green and Colorado Rivers, the white rim of Canyonlands, the Grand Canyon, the Mojave Desert.

Its quite possible there’s not a whole lot of unexplored areas left in the West, but part of me wants to hang on to the notion that there is still some “out there” left out there.  David Roberts recently had a thought-provoking op-ed piece in the New York Times arguing that with 21st Century technology, there’s not a whole lot of wilderness left.  That hopeful naïveté I cling to wants to disagree with him–that possibly there is still an unexplored canyon, or at least a hill which offers a great view of this everlasting sunset–that has yet to be enjoyed.

Aldo Leopold wrote,

To those devoid of imagination a blank place on the map is a useless waste; to others, the most valuable part.”

Tonight, sitting on this jet with a bird’s eye view of the West, I have to wonder where my imagination would wander if there were no blank spots on the map.   As a photographer, I have been thinking a lot lately about documenting these wild lands–what is my responsibility as an artist, my obligation to protect these lands?  If those peaks and mesas are leveled, if lights begin to dot the landscape, these places will change forever.

Where does your imagination wander?  None of us would argue over the value of those blank spots on the map, but what do you think–is there a fine line between artist and activist, or are they one and the same?

Sunset and moonrise at Thousand Island Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness, California

End of the Day, July 2010