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

Ansel Adams said, “Twelve significant images in any one year is a good crop.”  I used to think this was ridiculous, but the more I photograph and refine my own style, the more I believe this to be true.  With Adams’ thoughts in mind, I chose what I believe to be my twelve most significant images of the year.  I hope you enjoy them!

Star trails in northern Arizona, August

Dawn, northern New Mexico, July

Late-day light, Mojave Desert, California, May

Greeting the sun, Grand Canyon National Park, May

Sandstone Seduction, northern Arizona, January

Intimate scene, Utah, July

Saguaro skeleton and moon, Arizona, January

Into the canyon, Utah, April

Dawn in the desert, Utah, August

Dried mud, Utah, April

Windstorm, California, December

Sensuous curves, California, December

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 (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, 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.

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.

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

Cathedral Peak, September 2011

Ever since Owen was a small baby (even before he was born), he’s been in a walking family.  When my wife was pregnant, she walked about 8 miles a day, and since then we’ve walked with him.  For almost 2 1/2 years, he rode in a baby carrier (even on his first backpacking trip).  So, leading up to the day he finally hiked by himself, he understood what hiking was about.

Still, children are anything but fast on the trail, so a reward system for small accomplishments was key.  My wife carried a sticker book and let him choose stickers as rewards often.  Although the pace probably felt rushed to him, to an adult, it can feel slow–glacially slow.  For all but the most patient individual, it becomes easy to let frustration with the pace creep in.  To help avoid that, my wife and I took turns hiking ahead, just to feel like we were making a little faster progress.  That said, the most important lesson learned here is to enjoy the journey for its own sake.  The day’s endpoint is not the goal–not by a long shot.

You might remember my post from a year or so ago–Range of Light–in which I described Owen’s first backpacking trip.  As a parent, you can’t take this sort of trip lightly.  In a sense, this is “make it or break it” time–during these formative years, you have the opportunity for your child to forge a connection with the wilderness.  To say that wilderness is our heritage may be cliché, but it is the greatest gift we can leave future generations.  Perhaps even more important than fighting for it, we must teach our children to be stewards for the land.

To this end, a trip like this isn’t about you, its about your kids…the future.  As a result, the photographer in you may find you get as much time to scout locations, and set up as you’d like.  Although my wife is incredibly accommodating, with a 3-year-old in camp, there are chores to be done, and they take longer than normal.  I found myself rushing out of camp as the light changed, shooting for 30 minutes, and coming back to check on the family.

The more I contemplate the motivations behind my own photography, I become more and more convinced that understanding my own sense of place is crucial.  As a result, emphasis shifts to the experience rather than the image harvest–I have never understood the idea of taking 1,000 frames in a weekend and taking 6 months to process them.  Spending time with my family in the backcountry–letting my son establish his own sense of place–and making a few quality, heartfelt images along the way seems to be the way to go.

Contentment, September 2011

“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

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

I made this image in Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah in January.  Buckskin, combined with the Paria River, makes for an accessible backpacking trip through one of the nicest slot canyons in the southwest.  I noticed the brown “bath tub ring” in my RAW images, and thought there was something going on with my lens, but then I realized that’s a high water line, probably from years of flash flooding.  For scale, its about 6 feet off the ground.

Incidentally, this is my 200th blog post here at Alpenglow Images.  I’m grateful for several things.  First, I’m grateful for the participation, both from people who comment and those who don’t.  Thank you for commenting, and for sharing your ideas.  To that end, I’m also grateful for your inspiration, because you all have been with me on a continuing journey to define my vision in photography.  Finally, I’m just plain happy this blog hasn’t been ephemeral.  Thank you again for a great 200 first posts.

A few of you have heard my story about “Bob,” another photographer I met in Joshua Tree National Park one afternoon a couple of years ago.  I was photographing some boulders late in the day, and Bob came up, asking if he could shoot around me.  No problem.  I watched him pull a few folded up sheets out of his pocket–they were images he’d printed off the internet of other photographers’ images from the area.  He went through each one of them systematically, moving his tripod to exactly copy each photograph.  I confirmed with him that this is what he was doing.

Contrast Bob with who I call the “Wanderer”.  The Wanderer explores areas that may not necessarily be famous, but when done well, can come up with unique compositions and subtle beauty just about anywhere.  Bob and the Wanderer are the two extremes of a continuum.

Most of us, I think, lie somewhere along this continuum.  Most people are constrained enough by time (i.e. other commitments in life) that they can’t always wander as much as they’d like.  Personally, I do rely on guidebooks and word of mouth to help guide me to pretty locations, but once I’m in the area, I very often will wander, looking for unique compositions.  Fortunately, most of these locations are really conducive to letting creativity flow.

Despite relying somewhat on guidebooks, sometimes serendipity can strike in really sly ways.   In January, I followed vague directions to what is supposed to be a charming set of hoodoos in southern Utah.  From the parking area (a cow pasture), the directions I had told me to “walk up the canyon for an additional mile to the hoodoos.”  The problem is that there were two canyons.  Which way to go?

It turns out I chose wrong, and the hoodoos were nowhere to be found, even after more than a mile of walking.  I ended up at the head of a canyon that I would bet only ranchers and cows have been in for a very long time.  However, I was able to find some badlands, and one hoodoo, and I ended up really loving this image–not a bad “consolation prize” at all.

I guess all of this is a roundabout way of saying that even though its okay to follow directions to beautiful places, don’t be afraid to wander up the wrong canyon now and then.  You might just be delighted with what you find.