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1995 | Arroyo Salado, Anza-Borrego
▹ My go-to handbook on this practice came from my old friend Ron Strange — Leonard Koren’s Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers. Koren knows what he is doing; his cover’s ink gently fades, and when I left it for a time in a stack of other books, it showed a new photogram of the alignment of its upstairs neighbors.
1993 | Indian Head, Anza-Borrego
My last visit with Henry Wessel, days before his passing, was over the phone. We had pre-arranged the call to review my pictures and sequencing for a book of altered landscapes. It was a wonderful parting (not that I knew it then), as I was able to write feverish notes, now treasured, without breaking eye contact with him.
Hank’s words, like his photographs, were clear, crisp, precise, intuitive, wholly articulate, and generous. He was able to share his understanding of photography just like he used the medium — he was a unique talent, an openhearted artist, a mentor to many.
This is what Hank said about this one: “So much information is descriptively set up for feeling that we are in a place so special, that is different from any other place. The camera is insisting in a democratic way that everything is as interesting as everything else. This picture serves as a schematic and thematic palette for the whole series; we see all the things, but no specific things take over.”
1977 | Nevada Side — West Abutment
We were all looking at Lee Friedlander in the early ‘70s. I remember gallerists Jack Glenn and Larry Urrutia hung some of my pictures ($75) near Lee’s ($175), sometime around 1976. On another wall, Berenice Abbott had a fine print ($400 bargain) — her 1932 high view of nighttime Manhattan as a mysterious, luminous, brooding factory. Those were the days!
Geometry had always been a big deal for me, especially within the assertive engineer’s rectangle of the 35mm format, along with the venerable and companionable 6x9cm rollfilm format. Flexible grids came naturally (not via the worn Rule of Thirds or Golden Means), even in open space.
As I look at this picture again for the first time in forty years, I realize this was not a result of imposing my own structure on the world, but of my ready eye noting what was already there.
▷ At the Leitz factory beginning in 1913, Oskar Barnack developed prototypes for what was released as the Leica in 1925. To use readily-available sprocketed motion-picture film, he worked out an image size of two horizontally-joined 18x24mm movie frames (the “Academy” format — a satisfying 4:3 aspect) and gave us the 24x36mm (3:2 aspect) which many of us have come to call our own.
▷▷ I’m giving you the format dimensions here in height x width, but aspect ratios are generally noted as width : height.
1991 | Lake Mojave Above the Dam
This is a view made near Davis Dam, which squats like a grounded cruise ship on the narrowed Colorado River.
I’m not sure what hydrological or maintenance purpose this lean structure serves, but today I’m impressed with the lovely way it captures its own body of water.
2005 | View SSE along San Luis Dam
This earthfill dam is located on the eastern opening of Pacheco Pass, and the hot valley draws in plenty of air from the Pacific on hot summer days.
Just to the left of this picture’s frame revolves a huge “eggbeater” wind turbine, but my eye was drawn to the massless water and the spaceless sky, so my camera went here.
1980 | Southbound, east of the Salton Sea
Don’t let the dry land fool you; at long intervals, heavy rains can come to the arid Salton Sea basin, and runoff bearing down from the conjoined Orocopia and Chocolate Mountain ranges could take out a highway or railroad in a few minutes. In anticipation, “training dikes” have been graded up to steer the flowing water toward bridges and culverts.
I was guided to this place by an L. A. Department of Water & Power engineer’s finger on a huge map. This picture was made just south of the old railroad water stop “Salton” — it holds a lasting impression for me. Today, I could not resist browsing satellite images of this area to see more of the facts of where I had been.
2022 | Marin County, California
Speaking of meditation, significant side benefits of my rowing activity are the experiences of gliding in a good boat. Even after I have been resting for a full minute, my boat is still moving through the water, and I am learning to quietly move with it.
2009 | Near Two Harbors, Santa Catalina Island
I’m catching up on family photos, but never will, actually. The pile grows higher even when I choose something out of the middle, but in truth, this one is a ‘recent’ picture.
In a kayak, I’ve made a few decent pictures, as resting with both hands free, or one-handedness, is not too challenging. Rowing, I need to keep both hands on two oars to balance the narrower boat; they do absolutely nothing for my stability if they are not connected to my upright high-sitting body. So I am learning to rely on the pictures of other fellow-voyagers to help me to see where I have been.
For me, rowing provides a flow-state meditation on a wonderfully complex learning curve, making more and more natural sense — I am coming to realize that there is a Grand Unification Theory (and Practice) of the sport — I can row for a while with my eyes closed, so who needs pictures?
2000 | Southern Access to Artists Palette, Death Valley
The floor of Death Valley is one hundred and forty miles long and dead flat. A walk or drive up any of the canyons draining into it gives unique perspective. Even a vigorously-promoted formation familiar to tourists can bring new experiences, especially if I stop before I get to the crowd and take a few steps up, toward fresh opportunities.
2000 | Our Camp at the Mouth of Marble Canyon, Death Valley
I rarely made notes while on the road, but here’s a snippet from July 1996, traveling with my son:
…everything has a place — easy to pack and re-pack — then we know it’s in the truck and we did not leave it behind. If we have adequate organization, then we can stay out indefinitely, and instead of our vehicle becoming a hopeless mess after a few days out, it becomes a tight ship after a week or so.