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A life well-lived

Monday, March 18th, 2013

In my last post, I reflected a little bit about the landscapes and experiences that make us who we are; I know that much of who I am is tied to the landscapes of the Southwest. Since then, through a series of separate but related conversations with friends, I’ve been thinking more about a life lived to its fullest.

The path I followed in life was probably not unlike that of many others. I went to college, got a job, started a family, and now, here I am. There was a crossroads in my past where I could have gone another direction, working seasonal jobs in order to make ends meet between adventures. More than once, I almost went down that road, but today I fit my adventures in around other obligations. I accepted the trade-off: stability for freedom, as it were. Similarly, I would have been sacrificing stability, family, and possibly relationships if I had gone down the other road.

Trade-offs. Life is full of them. In most cases, they’re unavoidable, however what’s important (and this is where my conversations from this week come in), is to live a life with no regrets.

This week I also came across this video that’s been circulating online. Renan Ozturk is an accomplished climber, artist, and photographer, and was a 2012 nominee for the National Geographic Society’s Adventurer of the Year. The video below is his 2013 Director’s Reel, produced with the Camp 4 Collective. Quite frankly, on the surface, it’s badass. But, looking deeply, it’s a good reminder to live life to the fullest.

How does this relate to photography? In photography, as in life, it’s all about the personal journey. Treating every image as if it counts, because it does. Putting only your best work forward. Thinking very hard before saying “no,” when an unforgettable opportunity comes up. Creating personal, meaningful images.

As I watch the video above, I wistfully wonder about what I would have found had I taken another path in life, and I know that other crossroads lay before me yet. In life, in photography, I want to always say that I have had a life well-lived.

Posted in creativity, inspiration | 6 Responses »
Tags: inspiration, introspection, landscape photography, sense of place

Through the Grama

Monday, February 25th, 2013

For February at 6500′, it’s a warm day–about 40 degrees–and the sun makes it feel even warmer as we hike across the windswept grassland plateau. Snow still blankets the north-facing slopes, but the rest of the ground is free of snow, soft, and slightly muddy in places.

Everywhere, almost literally, signs of elk abound; I have never seen so many turds and tracks in one place. This small plateau must be great winter ground for them. I haven’t seen (or felt) any invasive Drooping Brome (Cheat Grass) in my socks all day, only native Bouteloua (Grama Grass). Here on the Colorado Plateau, where some areas have been grazed extensively, that must be one sign of a healthy ecosystem.

Through the Grama we hike, our heavy packs weighing us down more and more, until–finally–the east rim of the Grand Canyon reveals itself to us.

Last weekend, Jackson Frishman invited me to join him on a trip to visit the confluence of the Colorado and Little Colorado Rivers. Jackson’s proposal was ambitious: nearly 40 miles of hiking in 2.5 days, with no water along the route (we had to carry our own water cache). He introduced it to me as a hare-brained plan, and honestly that’s all he needed to say to get me on board.

Jackson told me he wanted to visit the confluence because the Grand Canyon Escalade–a proposed tourism development on the western edge of the Navajo Nation, which overlooks the confluence. If the project passes, it would include a tram from the rim down to the Little Colorado River (read more about Escalade here, here, and here). For me, it was a good time to familiarize myself with this area, learn a little more about the proposal, as well as to visit the Grand Canyon again; I began my backpacking life there, and the Grand Canyon evokes many special memories for me.

On Friday night, we discussed the final plans over beers and enchiladas, and it was clear that the stress of planning the trip had turned into excitement for what lied ahead. We started out on Saturday morning; our packs were weighed down with a couple of extra gallons of water for the return hike. We dropped the water underneath a couple of stiff piñon boughs to keep it from freezing, as well as to keep it away from the ravens which were surely watching us. As we got closer to the park service boundary with the Navajo Nation, we found an old hogan, with a missing west wall; the doorway of a Navajo hogan faces east to receive the morning sun and it’s good blessings, and when someone dies in a hogan they are carried out through a hole that has been knocked in the west wall, then the home is abandoned.

After several more miles, we crested a hill and scared a large herd of maybe 200 elk out of a drainage. They must have known about a water source that we didn’t. We watched the elk until they disappeared into the horizon and would see them several times over the next couple of days. The final push to the east rim was tortuous; buttes on the north side of the Colorado River were visible, but they never seemed to get any closer. However, finally, after what felt like hours we arrived at Cape Solitude.

Solitude indeed. We had not seen any other human footprints all day, and aside from a windbreak built from rocks, our campsite showed no sign of other humans at all. In the second-most-visited national park, solitude can be tough to come by. It’s a special feeling to have a piece of the Grand Canyon all to yourself.

We woke up to a windy but beautiful sunrise the next morning and hiked back to our water cache (thankfully untouched) from the day before. After rehydrating, I was happy to hike to our second night’s camp, closer to our trailhead, but with another private view of the canyon’s rim. Horned larks flitting through the sagebrush and elk were our only company. The next morning Jackson and I returned to our cars, shared a couple of cold beers, and parted ways.

We hiked through the Grama–through a healthy ecosystem–to a part of the Grand Canyon only a few people get to see. Elk tracks went right up to the rim. I wonder if they admire the view from time to time? In my twentieth year of visiting the Grand Canyon, I still stand in awe of the vast landscape, and can’t help but wonder if some of that awe would be diminished if I could take a tram all the way to the bottom, or if–consequently–the elk tracks didn’t go all the way to the rim.

P.S. You can also read Jackson’s post and see his image of Cape Solitude at his blog here. His blog is always worth a visit, with fantastic writing and wonderful imagery.

Posted in adventure photography, Arizona, environment, locations, national park | 9 Responses »
Tags: Arizona, grand canyon photography, landscape photography, sunrise photo, sunset photo

January Trips

Wednesday, January 30th, 2013

Straight as an arrow, or very nearly so, the road crests the mountain range, beginning its descent into the valley. After what feels like only a few minutes, it will start up the next rise, repeating this pattern again and again.

Basin and range. Ascent and descent. This topography–narrow, steep mountain ranges separated by deep valleys–very nearly defines the West. John Muir’s Sierra Nevada is the westernmost “range;” the province then extends eastward, one towering mountain range after another, and would reach all the way to eastern Colorado if the Colorado Plateau didn’t get in its way.

Four years ago, my Dad and I began the somewhat informal tradition of making a January photography trip somewhere together. I think it started mostly as an excuse to be outside and hike around together, hopefully making a few images along the way. Last week, I found myself in his truck with him cresting the Amargosa Range thus beginning the descent into Death Valley.

Death Valley National Park typifies the Basin and Range Province; the Inyo, Panamint, and Amargosa mountain ranges rise like the vertebral columns of colossal ancient dinosaurs, and the valleys between them (Death Valley included) cut through the earth separating them. The changes in elevation are dramatic and impressive, even to someone not well-versed in geology. As the park brochure will tell you, it is indeed a land of extremes.

We spent the next few days hiking around some places I had been to before, and some I had not. As one must sometimes do in a national park the size of Connecticut, we also drove a lot. The arrival of a winter storm gave a unique patina to the desert: landscapes we normally associate with hot lifelessness were transformed–beautifully–by clouds and fog.

I don’t normally get to photograph über-dramatic light, and honestly I am okay with that. My eye naturally tends to find compositions in subtle light and delicate form, which is exactly what this storm gave us. This year I celebrated my birthday on our trip, and the light was a perfect birthday gift. So, not only was it a time to enjoy being outside, it was also a time of celebration.

The last four Januarys with my Dad have given me milestones by which to watch him get older as well. He is not in failing health, but with each passing year I see him–both of my parents–getting older. My rational brain is accepting of that, but the little boy in me isn’t quite ready for the aging process to begin–in them, or in myself. Over the last couple of days, I’ve been thinking a lot about aging, mortality, our ability to experience a place, and the creative process; I think a common thread runs between all of these things.

As photographers, and particularly as landscape photographers, our ability to create art is rooted in how we perceive the world: our ability to see light and distinguish shapes, and to integrate that sensory experience with the smells and sounds around us is the cornerstone of our craft. The most evocative landscape photography I have seen is that which is sensed, not only with my eyes, but inside of the nucleus of every cell in my body.

Our senses are rooted in our biology, which changes as we age. If our senses are changing, it is no surprise that our artistic vision would change as well. Ideally, it would mature along with everything else! I wrote in my last blog post about my own journey back in time, exploring my favorite images from the last half decade. My artistic vision has changed, certainly. Matured, perhaps. Practice, study, and introspection have no doubt played a part in this, but perception–the way my senses tell me about the world–is a huge part of that.

Do we perceive the world with more clarity as we age? Do my aging parents somehow see things more clearly than I do? In some ways, I’d like to think they do. It is somewhat macabre, but looking all the way to the end may help answer that. Turning to my “other” field of comparative physiology for a moment, the great Canadian physiologist Peter Hochachka wrote only days before his own death in 2002, “I have noticed how the mind seems to clear when one’s time is up and current life is near an end…instead of anger, bitterness or even sadness, there can be interest and increased clarity.”

Basin and range. On my birthday this year, this landscape gave me not only light, but hope as well. Hope that in 30 years, I will see this landscape differently, and with more clarity, as perhaps my Dad did standing next to me on this trip. Hope that I will still be creating images then, images that are personal, unique, intimate.

Posted in california, creativity, Personal | 16 Responses »
Tags: basin and range, death valley, introspection, landscape photography, mountain light, sunrise photo, sunset photo

Crossroads of Creativity

Monday, January 7th, 2013

I have never been all that great at new year’s resolutions. The will power and self discipline to cut cookies from my diet or to learn the guitar just aren’t there. I’ll admit the latter has more to do with my complete lack of rhythm than will power, but you get the idea. While I am not much good at resolving, I do like the new year because it is a good time to look ahead.

Over the last week, one question I’ve been asking myself is, “Where do I want my landscape photography to be 12 months from now?” In many ways I feel as though I’m standing at a crossroads of creativity. To define this crossroads a bit better, I should provide some context. A few months ago, I came across photographer Mark Hespenheide’s artist’s statement; I encourage you to read the entire thing as it really is quite inspiring, but one passage has returned to the forefront of my brain over and over again.

Mediocre landscape photography can only reinforce the ideas about nature that we already hold. Good landscape photography can introduce us to new ways of seeing the world. Truly great landscape photography can change the way we perceive our place in the world and the way we interact with the world.

After reading this, it is easy to imagine three diverging paths at a crossroads and to understand the fact that each path requires increasing levels of introspection and challenge. Of course any photographer would say that they choose to make truly great images, but what does that really take? The answer lies somewhere different for everyone I think, however the same basic principles should apply to any landscape photographer.

Your artist’s statement is an incredibly powerful document. If you are honest with yourself as you write it, it will be about you, the artist. It will not describe your accomplishments, but rather your motivation and inspiration behind making images to begin with. Your artist’s statement is not static–it needs to change over time as you do. As I look back to my favorite images of 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012, I can see a definite shift in my vision; why should my artist’s statement not reflect that vision? Even if you don’t make it public, write your artist’s statement and put it away somewhere. In a few months, revisit it and be brutally honest with yourself as to whether your actions (and images) have matched your words.

One of the very first things I have done when I visit a new place is to study it on a map. I want to know the place as if it is an old friend. I want to know the names of the valleys, canyons, and mountains, and once I have learned that, I want to know why they earned these names. Just as understanding why you make photographs, the establishment of an intimate relationship with the land will make images more meaningful. As a photographer you should read–prolifically–about the places that you love to establish a sense of place. When you visit these places, it should feel like you have arrived home.

This all culminates in a creative process in which you get to know yourself and your subject intimately, and it goes beyond the postcard or calendar images that landscape photography is often regarded as being. When you express your subject photographically, Ansel Adams wrote, “it is a vivid experience, sudden, compelling, and inevitable.” It is, “a summation of total experience and instinct.”

Photographically, I operate on fairly simple principles. I believe there is beauty in life as in death, there is compelling order in chaos, and although we must look deeply, the intricacies and intimate details of the landscape are very often the best part; these are the characteristics of the landscape I want to express.

As we move into 2013, which path do you plan on taking, and what do you plan to do in order to get there?

Posted in creativity, inspiration | 20 Responses »
Tags: inspiration, introspection, landscape photography, personal growth, wildlife photography

Crisis in Confidence

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

Last Friday morning, I got up early and drove up to the San Jacinto Mountains near my home. A storm had been in the area and I wanted to go for a hike in the fresh snow, as well as to make some images. Living at low elevation, it felt good to be back in winter for a while. I wanted to hear the sound of snow crunching under my boots. I wanted to breathe deeply and soak up the silence and sheer peace that comes with newly fallen snow. I made some images–some that I’m quite happy with–but the morning would have perfect even if I had not.

As I drove home, I turned on my car radio and slowly started piecing together the events that had happened thousands of miles away in Connecticut. Profound heartbreak is really the only way I can describe the emotions I felt as I listened to the radio, and when I arrived home, I turned on the TV and saw the images. So much devastation, so much innocence needlessly lost.

On Monday morning, I read Guy Tal’s blog post, “Heal Thyself.” His advice on how to heal after this tragedy? Unplug. Go away from the hype, the media, everything, and allow yourself to heal. Today, that’s just what I did. I went to the Mojave Desert and started walking. When I came home, I told myself that although some might consider it cliché or derivative to write about this tragedy, I still feel the need to put words down, so here I am.

As far as days go, today was pretty miserable outside. It was windy and very cold, but I found a lovely and verdant little canyon to hike up. In contrast to the mountains just a while before, it still felt autumn-like in the desert; at least the colors of fall were still around me. Several of the wetter spots I passed through must be hotspots for desert bighorn sheep: droppings were everywhere, and with good reason. Water is hard to come by out here. A little while later, underneath a grove of alders, I found the remains of a desert bighorn. Maybe it fell from the cliff above (not likely) or was killed by a mountain lion. Or, maybe it just found a peaceful place to lay down and die. Either way, I sat quietly with its bones for a little while, enjoying a reprieve from the wind, as well as the solitude.

Desert Bighorn Sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni)

I hiked a little further up the canyon, exploring mostly, before turning around and walking back toward my car. For the first time in nearly a week, I felt peaceful knowing that hope is not lost. When I got home, I saw reference to Jimmy Carter’s 1979 speech, in which he refers to the nation’s energy crisis as a, “crisis in confidence.” We are getting over something much more visceral than an energy crisis, but those words–crisis in confidence–echo in my head. Events like this, not just at home but abroad as well, shake our confidence to its core. They shake our confidence that hope still exists, and if we are going to continue on, we must find a way to hang onto that hope.

So, I want to thank Guy for his advice, and I want to repeat it as well: unplug yourself from everything and find a way to reconnect with the good in the world.

Desert Bouquet

Posted in inspiration, Personal | 16 Responses »
Tags: Joshua Tree, landscape photography, sense of place

The Sacred Mountains of Tibet–eBook review

Thursday, December 13th, 2012

I can remember being in a sporting goods store with my Dad when I was about 14 years old. It’s not clear to me exactly what he was looking at, but as he talked to the salesperson, I started looking at the pictures in a catalog sitting on the counter; it was for the clothing company The North Face. In those pages I saw my first big wall climbers, my first mountaineers, and I discovered the Himalaya Mountains of Nepal and Tibet for the first time. Fortunately the catalogs were free because I decided almost instantly that I was bringing one home with me.

Over the next several weeks I went to sleep and woke up with those photos–those places–on my mind. In my daydreams I would fantasize about what it would be like to visit Everest base camp, or trek between Buddhist monasteries. As I got older, my own adventures began, albeit much closer to my home in northern New Mexico than the Himalaya, and my mind started to wander to these places instead–the Colorado Plateau, and the high peaks of the southern Rocky Mountains.

Yet, to this day, I still find myself in awe of the Himalaya. Although I hate the term, “bucket list,” I guess you could say that someday before I die, I’d love to visit these mountains. While I don’t hold on to the adolescent fantasy of climbing Mt. Everest or K2 any more, I would love to take a trek though the lower elevations, admiring the scenery, as well as the culture. As a photographer, I see the austere peaks as very beautiful subjects; they seem to create their own weather, which can make for dramatic light. I enjoy viewing photography from this region; its relative inaccessibility results in an internet that is not flooded with “iconic” Himalayan images (for which I’m grateful).

Photography in the 21st Century leads to a lot of “online” friendships, and I’m grateful to have developed one with Alister Benn and his wife Juanli Sun. Together, they are Available Light Images, and live together in Liajiang, China. I have long been a fan of Alister’s photography; his nighttime work is top notch (I reviewed his night photography eBook, Seeing the Unseen in March), and both he and Juanli have impressive images from the Himalaya. How fortuitous it was that Alister and Juanli just published a free (that’s right: free) eBook last week called, The Sacred Mountains of Tibet.

The Sacred Mountains of Tibet

Unlike Seeing the Unseen, The Sacred Mountains is not text-heavy. This is not a how-to manual; it is a celebration of place, written by two placed people. A short introduction, and individual introductory sections to different regions make up the bulk of the text, but the real gem–the thing that sets this book aside in my opinion is Juanli’s poetry. Several of her poems appear on pages between images, bringing a better sense of belonging to the viewer (I use that word rather than “reader” because, again, this book is about admiration of place, not of the written word). In addition to the cover, I’ve included two of my favorite images in this blog post.

Makalu, Lhoste, Qomolangma – Juanli Sun

The Sacred Mountains is the brainchild of a larger project; Alister and Juanli are planning on expanding this project and turning it into a printed book over the next few months. I think this is a worthy project, and it would make a fine book, library-worthy for any adventurer, or photographer.

The only thing I found myself wanting in this eBook was more, but I suppose it was the perfect teaser for their (hopefully larger) book. I’d like to thank Alister and Juanli for publishing this eBook, and for reminding me of my teenage dreams, awe, and respect for this mountain range. It really is a lovely effort, and I highly suggest you settle in on one of these cold winter nights with the beverage of your choice, dim the lights, and let the light of the Himalaya fill you up. You can download your free copy of the 51-page PDF by clicking here.

Chanadorje – Alister Benn

Posted in General, inspiration, locations | 5 Responses »
Tags: ebook, inspiration, landscape photography, sunset photo

Concerto in D minor

Monday, December 3rd, 2012

It’s chilly, gloomy, and rainy outside today; winter, it seems, has arrived in southern California. Sitting here in my office, the heater is warming me up, and I am listening to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 20 in D minor. The third and final movement ends on a happy and light note, but unlike some of Mozart’s other work, Concerto No. 20 is aggressive, in places even agitated and ominous; well-suited for the weather today. As I listen, I think of our recent trip to the Escalante area of southern Utah. How fitting I would be drawn to this particular piece today, as my imagination wanders back to the sandstone I love so much.

Just like a good friend, the redrock wilderness always welcomes me; my feet find purchase immediately, and it is as if we haven’t skipped a beat since being apart. I am constantly amazed at the plant life that–like my feet–finds refuge in this habitat of stone. These organisms eek out a living, nurtured by the harsh landscape, growing slowly but surely through the years.

Finding purchase, November 2012

Hiking up the Calf Creek drainage with my family, I think of a word that’s not often used in the desert: “lush.” Harbored between the gaunt canyon walls is an ecosystem that supports thriving plant and animal life. It is easy to see why you can look high up on the rock walls and see ancient Native American granaries, dwellings and rock art–they were drawn here for the same reasons as we are. Sustenance. Life. Safety. While I am not growing food or defending myself from marauders, all of these qualities are here for me. They are undeniable. As the morning progresses, cold night air moves out of the canyon, meeting the warm air that is radiating off of the sun-warmed rocks; the lingering scent of autumn hangs in the air, and it is difficult to imagine a place on earth where I would rather be. Just like Mozart’s welcoming melodies, it is easy to feel that way here: embraced, peaceful, calm.

Autumn in the Desert, November 2012

A Desert Utopia, November 2012

In the same way that Concerto No. 20 turns turbulent, so can the desert. Here in the Escalante, temperatures can drop below zero in the winter and can soar to well over 100 degrees in the summer. While plants and animals find a way to survive, it is not without compromise; life here is harsh. A summer’s worth of water can arrive in one storm, destroying everything in its path as it crashes through the tight corridors of a slot canyon. I have never seen the desert her in all of her fury, and am not sure I would want to. However, it is just that fury that has helped shape this landscape into what it is.

Under a wine-dark sky I walk through the light reflected and re-reflected from the walls and floor of the canyon, a radiant golden light that glows on rock and stream, sand and leaf in varied hues of amber, honey, whisky — the light that never was is here, now, in the storm-sculptured gorge of the Escalante.

–Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

Gloaming, November 2012

I am now sitting here listening to the rain hit the window of my office; Mozart’s Concerto is over. After 227 years his music lives on, and is still evocative; it will be until we as a species cannot hear–or feel–any longer. So will the Escalante, which is not exactly a piano concerto, but is–without question–a work of art.

Posted in environment, inspiration, locations, utah | 16 Responses »
Tags: fall color, Grand Staircase-Escalante, landscape photography, sense of place, utah

Happy Thanksgiving

Thursday, November 22nd, 2012

It hardly seems like a year ago I was writing a similar blog post from Zion National Park. This Thanksgiving, I find myself in Escalante, Utah, a small township located in the heart of the Colorado Plateau. The weather today was unusually warm for this time of year, and it made hiking extraordinarily pleasant, the perfect St. Martin’s Summer. My family and I started the day in the northern Mojave Desert, and ended sitting quite alone on a sandstone outcropping admiring the sunset just outside of Escalante township.

Escalante has some of the darkest night skies in the United States; it is far from electricity, out of the grasp of large metropolises, and tonight I am only blinded by one of the darkest night skies you will ever see. I am thankful places like this still exist.

For my friends in the United States who are celebrating Thanksgiving today, I hope you had a day with your family and friends, celebrating everything in your life that you are thankful for. With some time in the car today, I was thinking about the things I am thankful for. I am grateful for a family who is willing to travel with me. Having stopped in four national parks or monuments today (Zion, Cedar Breaks, Bryce, and the Grand Staircase-Escalante), I am thankful that the citizens of our country have had the foresight to put land aside, for the well-being of our souls, if nothing else. Sun-warmed Navajo sandstone is also on my list, as are sunsets that make me smile.

From the bottom of my heart, let me wish you a warm and happy Thanksgiving, whether you are officially celebrating or not. There is much in life to be thankful for.

Thanksgiving sunset, November 2012

Posted in inspiration, locations, Personal, utah | 9 Responses »
Tags: fine art, Grand Staircase-Escalante, landscape photography, sunset photo, utah

20% off prints & other holiday savings

Tuesday, November 20th, 2012

The holidays are once again upon us, and I am offering savings on prints and other products.

Prints

I am happy to offer all sizes of prints at 20% off through December 25. Each signed print is made on archival luster paper and is guaranteed to arrive by December 25 if you order by December 10. In addition to the 20% savings, I still am donating 25% of the sales from my ‘Wind’ portfolio to the Wilderness Society. Please visit my purchasing page to learn more about ordering prints.

eBooks

Our eBook, “An Honest Silence: A Celebration of Wilderness” is also 20% off through December 25. You can purchase it right now, and save 20% instantly by entering the code, “holiday” at checkout. Many thanks to all of you who have already purchased a copy, and especially to my friend Jackson Frishman for writing a very nice review of our book here (there is also an excellent Edward Abbey video in the same post). You can purchase the eBook by clicking on this link.

Greeting cards

This year, I am offering greeting cards, which I have never done before. The 5″ × 7″ cards are printed on heavy card stock and are blank on the inside leaving space for your personal note. Envelopes are included. I currently have two designs available, but if you have something special in mind, I’m happy to work with you. The cards are 10 for $20 (+ $5 shipping) or 25 for $44 (+ $5 shipping). I am very excited about the quality of these cards; contact me to order!

Utah Mud and New Mexico sunset

Thanksgiving is coming up and the rest of the holiday season will be over before we know it! I hope you have a wonderful holiday season!

Posted in Personal, updates | No Responses »
Tags: holiday savings, landscape photography

On being busy and the creative life

Saturday, November 17th, 2012

It is funny how life can get away from you sometimes. For the past few weeks I’ve been so busy I have not have much time to write and even less time to pick up my camera to make new images. Over the last few nights, we’ve had some amazing sunsets here in southern California, as well as some very welcome winter weather; combined, this has all made me miss my camera and the outdoors so much more. So, a few days ago, when I realized I had an entire day for a hike, I took advantage of it.

A recent storm had given the mountains and foothills a slight dusting of snow; I liked the juxtaposition between the desert ecosystem (one we usually consider to be ‘hot’) and the coldness of the snow. The canyon I chose to hike up felt frigid, with several hours remaining before the sun would find its granite walls. It was nice to feel the cold air on my skin as I moved up the canyon; after what felt like a scorching summer, I welcomed the chill.

Winter in the desert, November 2012

As the day progressed, the long light of fall gave a lovely feeling to the day: autumnal perfection. Although the snow is sure to melt without another storm, it hung gracefully in the shadows while the sun warmed my bones. I couldn’t have written a more perfect day if I had tried; it was exactly what my soul and mind needed.

| |, November 2012

During my hike, my thought process centered on art, photography, and creativity. I had brought my camera with me, and I tried making some images; some succeeded. I went hiking with the intent of getting a good workout and enjoying some time outside, photography was admittedly secondary. I can’t help but feel, however, that natural pattern, light, and beauty are all around us–art is all around us. There is a lot of discussion over exactly what art is. . As landscape photographers, we spend a lot of time (and money) traveling to the “best” locations at the best times of year to make beautiful images…then we try sticking a label on it (and worry about what others think). I wonder if, we are limited only by our ability to see the art that is all around us?

A ponderosa pine tree standing in a fresh dusting of snow

Last rays, November 2012

We are all on a personal journey to create art. How do you go about that? How would you tell someone to embark on their own journey? Brooks Jensen recently gave some of the best advice for creating moving art here; this is the strongest statement I’ve seen on the subject:

Produce your work to the very best of your ability. Send it out into the world. Listen to feedback, but measure it against your instincts. Learn from the feedback, but don’t supplicate yourself to it. Produce more work to the best of your ability. Be honest with yourself. Strive for deeper understanding and expression with all you’ve got. Give your work and yourself time to mature. Finish things so you can let go and move on. As has been so often said, even a fool who persists may eventually become wise. Then produce more work and plunge deeper into the process of awareness and expression. Soon, you will no longer care about the terms used to describe your work — snapshot or “Fine Art.” Do not confuse the map with the territory.

I think, ultimately, the landscape photographer has a choice: to create images that simply are what they are, or to let the “reptilian scales” be peeled from their eyes and truly see what is around them, perhaps in the process creating images that truly move the viewer.

Posted in california, locations | 6 Responses »
Tags: california, fall color, landscape photography, sense of place, snowfall, winter

Alpenglow Images

Landscape and Nature Photography by Greg Russell