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2022 | Marin County, California
I’ve been sorting more pictures into groups, trying to keep my thinking under control. Today there seem to be two categories, based on a first response to them:
A-1: “Oh, that’s…it!” (no judgement.)
A-2: “Oh, that’s odd.”
or
”That’s like…”
or
”What is that?
or
”Why is that?”
▹ Eli Demosthenes has a quick young mind and makes sure it doesn’t think too much. Our conversations about photographs really get down to the point of the enterprise.
Year 2000 | South Park, San Diego
I walked by this pink stucco house several times each week, and one day, I had a chance to see its interior. I may not have been surprised, but even now, this picture holds me; perhaps it carries the aspirations of the new owner.
2022 | Marin County
When I row down to the post office, I can catch up on what might be going on in town.
2023 | Tomales Bay
My brother met Phil Jonik at the post office, when he asked about the boat strapped to Phil’s car. Since then, we have become good friends. Phil is a special rowing companion, having begun his competitive career on Philadelphia’s Boathouse Row 63 years ago. I’m new at it, but I’m able to relax and take moments to marvel at the experience of being in a shell on an inlet of the sea.
2023 | San Diego
If the moon is in front of me, and the sun rising behind, it means a long carry to the water, and perhaps shoals and obstacles below the surface.
But low water is better than no water at all...
1995 | Towne Pass
When the sun gets low, it’s time to pull over, even homeward-bound at the end of a productive day. This spot offered generous room off the pavement and a little berm to gain a few extra vertical feet above the always-pesky foreground. Gaining a good view west from there, nothing in particular sparked my curiosity, but then I turned my habitual 180 degrees and landed this one.
In my experience, if I’m on the right axis, and the picture is not in front of me, it’s sneaking up on me from behind.
1989 | Anza-Borrego Desert State Park
A lacy palm frond or single stem of an ocotillo shrub can provide a soothing stripe of shade, but the light is always hot. This has been a challenging print to make over the years – it’s difficult to hold the texture and the heat. I think I’ll make another pass at it when warm weather returns this summer.
1986 | Borrego Springs, California
The Borrego and Coachella Valleys are warm desert memories for me – on breaks, I would stop to buy oranges and grapefruuit from back-road orchard stands like this one, unattended but well-stocked. After I made my honor-purchase, I turned away from the produce and looked north.
Lots of people say that the deserts are “empty,” but for me, there’s plenty going on out there.
1987 | Anza-Borrego Desert State Park
I used a lot of 4x5 Tri-X. It had a thick emulsion to record a great range of densities, especially with my heavy exposure/soft development scheme. It also had a thick base which only allowed me to store a years’ work in a twelve-inch-long archival “shoe-box.”
So to save space, after first making contact proofs of every technically-decent negative, I would make a first edit and throw any “uninteresting” negatives away, along with the matching contact proof, assuring myself that I would not be hunting around regretfully later for a mis-matched pair.
Later came, and I marked this odd proof with an advisory. I have yet to find the negative or its sisters, but I still have something to show!
1992 | Death Valley
This was the only object I saw as I walked the twelve miles through the Devils Golf Course and on into Badwater to meet my ride. I noticed that the airfoil was rather thick for a modern aircraft, so it’s hard to guess when it might have dropped out of the sky.
▹ The National Park Service deletes possessive apostrophes from their place names, perhaps to simplify web searches or because they complicate the typography in their wooden routed-character signage. It doesn’t look right to me, or read clearly, or feel traditional, but here I yield in case someone wants to look it up.