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.

Sandstone Kaleidoscope, January 2012

The end of another year is upon us, and I stand in awe of how quickly time flies.  Hopefully your holiday season is filled with happiness and satisfaction when you look back on 2011.  Our house is filled with family right now, and a 3-year-old who is very excited about having Grandma and Grandpa here for a visit, so I’ll probably be pretty quiet on the blog until after the new year.  Looking back, though, I am very grateful for this blog, because of all the repeated visitors who have become good friends, and the new visitors, who I hope will become friends in 2012.

Some posts on this blog generated some great discussion in 2011:

• (Re)alignment
• An Honest Silence
• In Memoriam
• The Need for Wilderness
• Little Mentors
• Make Your Own Tripod Tracks, an essay by David Leland Hyde

To end 2011 on a very happy note, I received word the other day that one of my images (below) was accepted to Yosemite Renaissance 27, a juried exhibit that will be on display in Yosemite Valley from February 24-May 6.  Mine was one of 48 pieces selected for the exhibit out of almost 700 entries–I’m very proud and happy to have my work displayed in this exhibit.

High Sierra Reflection, September 2010

I sincerely hope you have a great holiday season, and a wonderful start to 2012!  I am looking forward to seeing where the new year takes us…

In the U.S., we’ve taken the day to give thanks for all the things in our lives–material and non-material things that bring us comfort and happiness.  If you’ve turned on the radio, opened the newspaper, or watched TV at all, you are well aware that there’s no shortage of opportunities to obtain happiness from material goods (rock bottom deals, starting at 10pm tonight!!!).  However, I sit here tonight thinking that the old cliché holds true–the best things in life are indeed free.

I spent the afternoon walking with my family in Zion Canyon, fallen cottonwood leaves littering the ground, the smells of autumn in the air.  As the sun went down, wild turkey, deer, and a grey fox graced us with their presence.  It gave me an opportunity to reflect on the things I’m thankful for; a few things are:

• My capacity to feel love, and the people in my life who bring that out in me.
• The fact that we have wild places to escape to.
• My son, who’s curiosity, enthusiasm, and perception of the world always remind me to keep an open mind.
• Good beer.  :)
• The ability we have to visit places (wild or not) that inspire us.

I won’t bore you with a long list, but those are a few of the things that come to mind at this instant.  If you’re celebrating Thanksgiving today, I hope you’ve had a wonderful day connecting with friends and family…what are you thankful for today?

Happy Thanksgiving!

This past week, a new video has been circulating the blogosphere; I thought I’d share it here as well.  The Lumiére Gallery in Atlanta opened a new show this week, “Messages from the Wilderness,” featuring the work of Philip Hyde, Robert Glenn Ketchum, Ansel Adams, Brett Weston, and Edward Weston.

The show, which is open through December 23, is a celebration of American Wilderness; the video I mentioned above has been highly publicized and features David Leland Hyde (of Landscape Photography Blogger) talking about his father’s work.  I find it particularly moving to see these images, and realize how they not only impact us as photographers today, but as wilderness advocates, as citizens of this country.  The images on display in “Messages from the Wilderness” shaped our nation as it is today–the art was truly serving a purpose.

I find that inspiring on many levels.

Philip Hyde from Lumière on Vimeo.

Incidentally, look for a David Leland Hyde as a guest blogger here at Alpenglow Images in the next few weeks.

For several months now, I’ve been contemplating a change in the format of my website, one which speaks more to my evolving style and vision as an artist.  Over the course of the last few weeks, those changes have taken form, and I’m proud to announce the release of my new website.  Please take a look, either at this link, or by using the tabs you see to your right.

Rather than showcase all of my images, I’ve attempted to choose a few select images that truly are “mine.”  In that sense, Alpenglow Images is now a portfolio site, rather than the “stock” site it used to be.  Call me sentimental, but I haven’t been able to completely abandon my old format; you can still view it at this link.

There are still bugs to be worked out, and I’d appreciate hearing about any you find.  Many of them are simply due to my novice skills in coding a website, but I will try to get everything resolved in the next few weeks.  In the meantime, please take the time to look around and enjoy the images; they all foster in me a deep sense of connection with the land.  I hope they do in you, too.

I have to admit, too, that going through my image catalog, choosing these photos for my portfolio has allowed me to see clear themes emerge in terms of my style.  I think its an instructive exercise that every photographer should do from time to time.

Here’s to reflection and self-examination.

Self-portrait, August 2011

Have you ever noticed how our opinion of whether we own something affects how we act toward that object?

I ran across a study (read the PDF) in the journal Developmental Psychology this week that has some interesting findings on how our sense of ownership develops. The researchers found children–as young as three years old–feel that although man-made objects are owned (like a stuffed animal), naturally occurring objects (like a rock or pinecone) are not.

The management and use of our public lands seems to be an endless debate (e.g. this link), not only within Congress, but in many other arenas as well.  Although their name–public lands–would lead us to believe the collective people have a say in these matters, experience suggests this might not always be the case.  While to some extent, we’ve all outgrown this notion that the natural world isn’t “owned,” perhaps the world would be a better place, and we would be better stewards for the the land, if we thought like a toddler from time to time.

I’m very happy to announce that my 2012 calendar is now available.  The center-folding, wall-hanging 17″ × 22″ (8.5″ × 11″ folded)  calendar features 12 of my images on heavy-duty stock paper.

The holiday season is already underway, and these calendars will make a great gift, either for yourself, or for someone else who loves wild places.

Cover

January

June

September

The calendar is available for $27 (includes shipping); if you are interested in purchasing one, send me an email at:

alpenglowimages (at) gmail.com

or visit my purchasing page for information on purchasing.

In addition to my calendar, I’m very happy to offer a 10% discount on all of my photographic prints through December 25!  I’m appreciative of all of the visitors to my site, and would be honored to have my art hanging on your wall.

For August in the Southwest, the air is unusually humid.  Dark clouds are rolling in from the west as we walk into the wide, shallow canyon.  A narrow trails has been worn in the horsetail reeds; they rise up past my waist and I put my hands out, letting my fingers run along their tips.  The leaves of the cottonwoods that dot this canyon are moving faster and the cool air of the incoming thunderstorm acts as a natural swamp cooler.  After about twenty minutes of walking, I look up onto a sandstone outcropping and see what I’ve came here to visit–an 800-year-old Ancestral Puebloan ruin nestled into the cliff.

I’ve returned to this area of southeastern Utah for my first significant visit in nearly 15 years.  Growing up, my Dad and I spent many hours backpacking the wild canyons of Cedar Mesa, and for the last several years, I’ve longed to come back for a visit.  My motivations for returning–I suppose–are many.  I’ve returned to slow down, hoping to escape the nonstop movement in southern California.  Similarly, I have returned to revisit my past; as an adolescent, I have suddenly realized that I took many of my early wilderness experiences for granted.  Photographic motivations also played a role–I want images of these places that define me.

Ancestral Puebloan Dwelling, August 2011

I think, ultimately, I’ve returned because this is my epicenter: this is the place I fell in love with the Colorado Plateau.  Light-colored Cedar Mesa sandstone with its bold desert varnish seemed to always be a part of my early wilderness experiences.  Its is part of me–occasionally when I accidentally cut myself, I look closely at the blood, perhaps hoping its become the color of the Organ Rock or Moenkopi shales that top the Cedar Mesa formation.  I’ve come back to pay reverence to the natural and cultural history of this landscape.

Paul Woodruff describes reverence as a virtue; the more reverence you have, the greater your capacity to feel respect, awe, shame.  As a visitor to the canyons of Cedar Mesa, all of these emotions are evoked inside of me.  I feel a deep respect for the Ancestral Puebloan people who settled here, multiple times, to make a living.  Although the landscape was likely different centuries ago, it was still a hot, dry place, but they made a living, farming the verdant canyons and carving out a life on the cliffs.  The work that went into these structures is tangible–look closely and you can see ancient finger and palm prints in the dried mud of their walls.  The forces that shaped this labyrinth of canyons are nothing less than awe-inspring.

Yes, one even can feel shame here, although it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I am ashamed I didn’t appreciate my early visits more, that I am just now realizing the full impact of the history available to us up on this small mesa in lovely, remote southeastern Utah.  Indeed, for the individual willing to open his heart and mind (and sometimes to close his mouth), these canyons can speak to you.

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”  –Marcel Proust

Ask any parent, and they’ll tell you that every  day is a new adventure, especially with young children.  So its been with my son, who is now three.  Our newest adventure has been to get him ready for his first “big boy” backpacking trip by taking him hiking often.  Prior to this, he had always ridden like a little prince in a backpack, but as he’s grown heavier and more independent the shift to having him walk was inevitable.

I opened this post with a quote my best friend recently sent me.  Proust’s words caused me to take pause for several reasons; from a photographic point of view, I think there is significant meaning here, and hiking with my son helps to illustrate that.  Toddlers are anything but fast.  Every 20 feet or so, we have to stop and go through any myriad of activities: digging in the dirt, touching every flower on a bush, sticking hands down animal burrows (yes, I put a stop to this very quickly!), etc.  Progress is, needless to say, slow.  But, its a process that’s helped me to see with new eyes.

Go go go, hurry hurry hurry.  Get up, fix breakfast, go for a run, shower, out the door, sit in traffic, work for 8 hours, sit in traffic, eat dinner, do dishes, go to bed.  How many of us can relate to that?  Even with photography, can you relate to that?  I’m sure, on some level, you can.  In the timespan of a 2 mile walk with my son, he managed to show me some interesting tracks in the dirt, a really cool scorpion exoskeleton, and a rock that looked “like a pair of sunglasses.”  In other words, I saw things I normally would have walked by, or ignored.

In a world where we drive blindly between scenic viewpoints as if someone is telling us what’s worth seeing, and we rush between items on a to-do list, do you think we have something to learn from a 3-year-old who is discovering the world around him?

My new mentor and I, August 2011

Last spring Gary Crabbe published an essay (read it here) that has really stuck with me.  Our own perception and preconceived notions have such a profound effect on the situation.  Sometimes this impact is positive, but it can be negative as well.  As a result, Gary’s thoughts have kept me cognizant of this, and I’ve learned to remember to break free from my own self-imposed constraints when looking at a situation and shift my viewpoint.

Often that makes all the difference in the world.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you’ll know that I’ve taken a great interest in the idea of “sense of place” over the last year.  While I’m still fleshing out much of what this notion means to me, knowing where I am (and who I am) has had a positive impact on my creativity and photography.

This is short notice, but I’ll be talking about sense of place and photography at the Lancaster Photography Association’s monthly meeting this coming Tuesday, August 16 (6pm at the Antelope Valley Senior Center).  The LPA always welcomes guests at their meetings–if you’re in the area, it would be great if you could come by.

So, check out Gary’s blog (always worth a regular read–he posts some great images and thoughts), and come to the Antelope Valley next Tuesday.

You can look at the PDF of my Powerpoint slides from the talk by clicking here.

Shifting viewpoints, July 2011