I’m Just a Brooklyn Boy in the Rockies

•September 20, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I come out of the forest trail and arrive at my destination, Mitchell Lake. It’s still pretty dark, but I probably don’t need my head lamp anymore. Mitchell Lake is at about 10700’ in altitude. Another 800’ is tree line and the landscape looks it. Most of the trees are pretty small and there are a lot of rocky areas.

The clouds in the sky begin to show a little color and I flip into action. I’m thinking about compositions and how to capture the bright sky, the dark trees and the reflections in this little creek in one exposure.

Most of the thoughts are about solving technical matters. I leave the art matters up to something else. There is a tremendous amount of awe in me as the sky picks up color. The little creek coming out of Mitchell Lake reflects those reds and golds beautifully. The little shrubbery around it is starting to turn autumn colors with patches of red everywhere.

I’m just one big WOW and I’m trying to make a photograph that expresses my awe, wonder and appreciation be here at this moment. Whether I’m successful will be determined later when I’m going through the images on my computer. I’m just doing my best just to capture it now.

Will I get images that will capture what I want? Will they just look like other sunrise mountain images? Will my exposures work to get the focus and detail I want without a lot of noise?

These questions will be answered later. I can only just be quiet, take it all in and make exposures.

I never know if I’ll be happy with what I’ve gotten till after I review them, but many times it will be days or weeks before I know if I’ve really gotten anything.

I just hope I learn from my mistakes and do better next time.

When I was young I remember asking my mother why this political candidate from the West wasn’t interested in preserving the beauty of their environment, while we, living in New York City wanted to preserve it. My mother answered that maybe because they live there, they take it for granted, while we who can only rarely visit it or see photographs of it appreciate it more.

When I’m up in the mountains, I’m still that visitor. I’m still a Brooklyn boy in the Rockies. I hope that never changes.


Walking and Seeing

•August 29, 2016 • 2 Comments

I love going out in the morning and taking photographs. There’s something that happens to me when I walk around with a camera that takes me out of my mind and allows me to get very observant. It first happened to me when I was in my late teens and I was wandering around city streets with my camera in my hand. I’d be looking and looking, and at some point, something would click and I would see things that I would ordinarily pass by: faces, relationships, attitudes. I would see interesting things to photograph everywhere.

The same thing happens today. I’ll be walking on a trail with pine trees on either side: no great changes in color, no dramatic light. But as I walk along and get quieter and quieter, I see all sorts of relationships between trees, rocks, mountains, sun the sky. I just shoot and shoot hoping that I’m able to capture what I’m seeing, but realizing that most of it is out of my hands.

People who’ve studied contemplative art tell me I’m a contemplative photographer. I generally think of contemplation as involving thought but the contemplative artists say no. The contemplative photographer label could be put on me, but I’m reluctant to put it on me. I’m not thinking of performing any spiritual practice when I go out. I have a desire to get some good photographs, but I realize if I put too much attention on that desire, it will distract me from my experience so I don’t dwell on that. I just look around and take it all in and try to capture the quiet beauty and relationships in a photograph.

The taking of the photograph is an integral part of the experience. Seeing something that I find interesting and beautiful and seeing if I can capture that in a flat image with defined borders. How to compose it. How to expose it. All of this is part of the joy. I’m getting excited just writing about it.


•August 22, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I’m always looking for ways to promote my photographs so I’m always checking out calls for entry. I apply to very few of them because I’ve learned that very few of them are looking for what I do. My images are not of people. They are not exciting and innovative. They don’t say anything new. They don’t push any boundaries. They aren’t made with any ultra-new or obsolete-old processes.

My photos don’t fit into those categories because I’m consciously not trying to fit into those categories. I’m trying to fit into the oldest category there is – silence.

I work with scenes whether small or grand that I consider beautiful, and I try to distill that beauty into its essence: quiet, peace, joy, love. Even those words are too much. Let’s just call it divine silence.

I have found that images of silence and peace are not very readily appreciated on the internet where attention spans are getting shorter and shorter. Or, maybe I’m just not that good at it.

I love all kinds of photography, from landscapes to street shots to fashion. But when I’m taking photographs I tend to focus on simple and quiet. I don’t think about trying to take quiet images – I find that it’s just what I’m drawn to and what I enjoy making. If I have a goal it’s to make images that are quieter and more beautiful.

Second Wind

•July 24, 2016 • 2 Comments

I had a photo on exhibit at a local photographic art venue and I took the director up on the offer for a portfolio review. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I saw their eyes glaze over as they looked at my nature photos.

It seemed that most people in the photographic art world saw all nature photos the same. Whether it was a me-too photo of Mesa Arch or a compelling intimate landscape that they had never seen before, it was all the same to them.

So, for the past few years I’ve been moving away from nature photographs and doing more abstract images. This hasn’t taken a lot of effort or self-denial because I love doing abstract images–but I also love taking nature images.

I recently had the great good fortune to come in contact with one of the principals putting together a number of History of Boulder Visual Arts exhibits. I had wanted some advice about picking images for an upcoming exhibit. She looked at my website, at my abstract images and at my nature images and she saw no difference. She even pointed out the abstract qualities of some of my nature images. It was a revelation. I wasn’t just another guy waiting for the sunset at Tunnel View. She saw me as an artist.

Being an artist means being intensely inner-directed. You can’t make art and be too concerned with what others will think or what will sell. You have to please your heart first.

At the same time, when someone sees your art and gets it, they also get you, and the validation is very powerful. So during the week I still go out and photograph grasses, creeks, rocks and stuff, but when I have more time, I’m indulging my love of the Colorado high country and taking nature photos.

It’s the best of both worlds.

Exhibit at Rembrandt Yard

•May 30, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Starting July 11, I will be in an exhibit at Rembrandt Yard with two other artists, Sarah Sanderson and Andre Nebrega.

Rembrandt Yard is this beautiful exhibit space at 1301 Spruce Street in downtown Boulder. The opening is from 5:30-7:30 PM on July 21th.

If you’re in the neighborhood, come on by.

To Be an Artist is to Believe in Miracles

•May 23, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I go out with a camera and I believe I will create a work of art. Why? I know it’s not the camera. I know it’s not my great technical skills. Having time for creating is necessary; so is knowing how to use one’s materials, but that’s only the prerequisite. Something else has to enter into it. What is it?

Like most artists, I get absorbed in the creation of my work and in getting absorbed, some parts of personality get out of the way and creativity flows. They use the term “falling” in love because you can’t just decide to be in love, you have to “fall” which like all falling implies a loss of control. In the same way, you can’t decide to be creative. When you do, you end up with a dry spell. What you can do is open to creativity, and just like falling, it implies loss of control. And with that loss of control, the production of a work of art can happen. Who was in control to produce that beautiful piece of art? Not me. Not you. It’s miraculous.

When looking through a session’s images, whether nowadays as raw files in Photoshop or in the old days as transparencies on a light box, sometimes one or two images just hit me and I am floored. Not from every session, but often enough. I am always blown away when that happens. Yes, I was operating the camera. Yes, that will be my signature when I exhibit the piece. However I realize how fortunate I am to have participated in the creation of that image. I’m a believer. Miracles happen.

Don’t Worry. Take Pictures

•May 16, 2016 • 2 Comments

If you want to find information about how to be a great photographer and how to take great photos, you will find a lot of it on the Internet. If that’s not your style, you can go to numerous portfolio reviews and get lots of opinions on where you work is good, where it is lacking and where it can be improved.

Or, you can join any number of sharing sites online and have people critique your photos and tell you how they can be better.

Or you can be like me… I don’t look for criticism online or in portfolio reviews. I look for opinions from my wife and maybe some friends, but that’s all.

Someone I met in a critique forum accused me of being a coward for not posting there anymore. I don’t think I’m a coward. I think I’m smart. I would have been smarter if I’d left earlier.

I’ve been taking photographs for a long time. I’m pretty competent technically. I can get what I want out of my equipment and if there’s something I want to learn, I know where to go to learn it.

What can’t be learned, what can’t be absorbed from any source is who one is. And this includes who one is as an artist. Making art is the one of the most intimate and personal things one can do. Only you know when you touch that space. Only you know when you are there. No amount of positive or negative feedback can get you there. You get there by making art over and over again, making corrections, seeing where your inner-directed and outer-directed and making more art.

Yes, it feels good if someone likes what you’ve done and it feels bad if they don’t. And yes, consciously or unconsciously you’ll want to make the kind of work that brings more praise and less criticism, but eventually that will turn dry and you’ll again turn inside and produce your art.