TRACTOR GRAVEYARD

I got my first camera in 1966. It was a Minolta Hi-Matic 9 rangefinder. My father bought it for me, in Europe. He went for business. He asked me if I wanted him to bring anything back, besides records by the Beatles and the Stones. I asked him to bring me a camera. Now, Leica makes some pretty fine cameras and they happened to have made them in Europe. Rollei made cameras. Hell, Hasselblads were supposed to be good. My father bought himself a Minox-- like a spy camera. He would sneak shoot some snaps of women's shoes in store windows in Rome and Paris. Now, before you draw the wrong conclusion, my father was in the shoe business. His idea of designing was to take pictures of the latest styles and have the factory he worked for copy them.

The first pictures I took with my Minolta Hi-Matic 9 were in a graveyard. I thought it would be creative and cool.

I just got my Canon G9 back from having it repaired. I'll spare the details, but the point is, although it is not a NEW camera. It seems, for the purposes of this introduction to a series of photographs I took the day before yesterday. They were taken at what I think of as a tractor graveyard. Almost a hundred mostly Ford tractors in various stages of rust and deterioration. The lot is usually locked up. I noticed it was open and activity going on the other day. I was on my way to the opthamologist for an eye exam. I had some time to kill afterward. Bearing in mind I had just had my eyes dilated for the exam. I could hardly see, let alone drive. Bearing that in mind, I headed back toward the graveyard.

I think the potion's effects on my vision started to diminish as I got to the graveyard. Or at least I would like to think that...

Last Class

Last Wednesday was my last after-school photography class at Walker Middle School, in West Salem. It was an odd class this time around-- all boys, which never seems to happen. There ended up being just four of them. The sun appeared and we decided to spend the first of the last class outside. The photographs below are of the walkways at the front and west side of the school. My Canon G9 was out being repaired so I ended up using the old Casio--a good little camera.

Minto-Brown Park, 10.29.2011

None of the following have yet to be processed through Photoshop. They are as the camera captured them...

A matter of aesthetics.

Minto-Brown Park, in Salem is nearly 900 naturally open and wooded acres. There are paths that hug the banks of the Willamette River and from certain perspectives, it looks, for all the world, as if the location has never been touched by the 150+ years since Isaac "Whiskey" Brown settled on what became known as Brown Island. The park is a wonderful treasure, one I have only just recently become familiar with. It is where I decided to inaugurate my new Tamron 17mm-270mm super-zoom. As is often the case, I tend to shoot in the jpg + RAW mode, in the monochrome setting. That way, I get black and white jpg's and the RAW files in color. On occasion, the RAW files so overwhelm me that I decide to process them in as faithful color rendition as I can. The two images of the Willamette are examples where the color was so compelling to me that I shot them that way, and not in monochrome.

The Willamette River, from Minto-Brown Park, looking West–10.22.2011

The Willamette River, from Minto-Brown Park, looking East–10.22.2011

While I marvel at the color and the natural splendor of these images, I almost cringe at them. Through some minimal Photoshop work, I emphasized the beauty and tranquility, the autumn colors and so on, resulting in nothing less than what probably appears as picture postcard pretty.

There is a photographer I know in Salem who shoots large-format, black & white exclusively. I had arranged for him to exhibit his work at the June Drake Center that I was running in Silverton. We got into a bit of an issue of the exhibit, space allotment and so on. The space was named for June Drake, who was a commercial photographer in Silverton and had used his photography as a way to petition for the establishment of Silver Falls State Park-- the largest in Oregon. I had considered part of the permanent display on Drake were three of his photos of the falls that he had taken, printed and hand-colored. This photographer had taken issue to these images, relegating them to a little closet that contained little more than a water heater, so that he had more exhibit space for his work. He had referred to them pejoratively as "idealized and romanticized 'pretty pictures'." My response then had been one of outrage as in "How dare you?" Thinking that when his photography can champion the creation of a state park then he would have the right to criticize and demean such 100 year-old images.

Which is a kind of a roundabout way to raise the issue of aesthetics. Is a work of art that is "pretty"-- that pleases the eye of lesser validity than one that pokes the eye? The above images are unambiguous in their "prettiness." They are completely different in monotone:

The Willamette River, from Minto-Brown Park, looking East–10.22.2011

On one hand, I don't feel I need to defend my decision to render the river-scape in color, and in the other, well...

Color photography has never been accepted in context of traditional fine art photography. Eliot Porter's name comes to mind, but is overwhelmed by the countless art photographers who have shot exclusively in black & white. I tend to shoot in monochrome both because it admittedly represents a perception of more serious work and also, on a very practical level, it is less distracting than color.

The black & white rendition of the the Willamette River, from Minto-Brown Park, looking East is, to me wholly and totally different from the color version. Not better or worse... different. They are both valid and truly make different statements.

I took some other photographs that day--ones I had envisioned in black & white, and remained that way...

Occupy Salem

Thus far, I have attended two of the rallies/demonstrations with the Occupy movement, in Salem, Oregon. I brought a camera to both. I feel I captured one image that encapsulates the spirit, and recalls a photograph I took over 43 years ago, (see: "Central Park Demonstration, New York City– 4.1968" posted on 1/1/2010). The more things change...

Peace Plaza, Salem, Oregon–10.15.2011

Ambiguity

Evans Valley Road, Silverton, Oregon–10.5.2011

Minor what wrote that one should look at a photograph not for what it is, but for what else it is. I drive by this upended tree stump nearly every day. Sometimes I have thought it looks like Michelangelo's Pieta. More often, I think it looks like the grim reaper without the characteristic scythe. In the end, it is not necessarily what I see but what you see.

And, by the way, I was tempted to crop out the piece of the power pole on the right, but decided against it. This is as the camera captured it, flaws and all.

In the Spirit of Minor White.

I was invited to participate in an exhibition from the Salem Art Association at the Bush Barn Art Center. The theme was "Parks for People: The Art of Stewardship." The only criteria was that the image had to have been taken at the Bush Pasture/Park or the Deepwood Estates, in Salem. I thought I had all the time in the world. I was wrong. I had a meeting that had been postponed once before on September 1 at the Art Center and I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. After the meeting, I would traipse around the Bush grounds and–just like that–capture an image to submit. Again, I was wrong. I read the artist information incorrectly. The piece had to be submitted by September 1.

I had had surgery at the beginning of June and was just about recovered when I came down with a difficult to diagnose respiratory malady. I was weak, tired easily and was having trouble breathing. It turned out to be pneumonia. The accompanying dry cough had aggravated my surgical recovery and, all in all, I was pretty much a mess.

I went for the meeting on the 1st and learned I was about to miss the deadline. I asked the gallery director if I could have an extension. This was on the Thursday afternoon before the Labor Day weekend. She consented. I could bring a piece in on Tuesday morning, no later than 10:00 am.

The pressure was on. Pressure I didn't really think I was up to. I tried to beg off submitting a piece. I got a smile in reply and a siren song. "I'd really like you to participate."

Great.

So, with labored breath and undue pressure, I pored over the grounds of the Bush Pasture. I started at the greenhouse, trying to capture the patterns of drips and shadows outside. Then I entered, looking for the image that I thought was waiting for me.

Coleus, Bush Greenhouse, Salem, Oregon–9.1.2011

I took a number of photographs of the plants in the greenhouse. I tried to get the wrought iron bench and capture the shadows cast by the window panes above. My all-purpose zoom lens fritzed out on me. I switched to the macro and then the normal, fixed focus. I was wheezing and losing faith in my ability to pull a photograph out of an imaginary hat. I didn't have to review what I was shooting. I knew it wasn't happening.

Fallen Apples, Bush Pasture, Salem, Oregon–9.1.2011

I walked around the trees, looking at the gnarled branches and the fruit trees. I took a few exposures of apples that had fallen around the tree. I was getting more and more discouraged. I was half-thinking of going back into the Art Center and admitting defeat. It seemed the more I looked, the less I saw. I was shooting for the sake of it, uninspired and bereft of the all-important mojo. I decided to head over to the Deepwood Estate and see if I could be inspired there.

The Secret, Deepwood Estate, Salem, OR–9.1.2011

No sooner did I park and drag myself by yet another greenhouse did I find my photograph. Or, should I say, it found me.

Three young women, dressed in the shiny satin looking long gowns of Russian Old Believers or Mennonites, with covered heads, were across the path from the greenhouse. One was seated with an iPod, the ear-buds firmly in place. The other two were standing, their heads close in conversation. As I looked into the locked greenhouse, I saw the two women's reflections in the glass. Eureka!!!

I took maybe a half dozen exposures and didn't review them until I got home. I almost felt like I was stealing... stealing perfection. It just felt so right. It was one of those rare and wondrous moments in photography—a Minor White moment. I had stopped looking and had instantly found my photograph.

Minor had a theory about "found photography." I have interpreted it to simply mean that the images are "there." They are just waiting to be found. One "takes" a photograph. They are there for just such a purpose.

I showed my wife the series and she instantly gravitated toward the first exposure of the six. Initially, I printed the image as a 12" x 18". But the image is too intimate for that size. I went back and printed it about 8" x 12" and had it framed in a 16" x 20". I delivered it Tuesday morning at 10:00. The gallery director really liked it. It got a good response at the show's opening... and I found out today that it had been sold. I called the buyer, who said it "drew her in."

My old teacher, William Giles, was a student of Minor White. He learned his lessons well and passed them on to his own students. I learned them and continue to learn them. The power of photography is transformative. I am so gratified there are a few folks out there who get what I try to do with my camera, my eyes and maybe something deeper. I thank you for that.

Between then and now.

I've not been shooting much, and posting less... here's a little catching up:

Lilly. July, 2011

My wife grows them. I shoot 'em.

Salem, Oregon. 5.2011

* * *

I had tried doing a bit of a Ruth Orkin exercise during the month of May,

shooting the same view every day (around the same time).

These are four of them.

5.16.2011

5.18.2011

5.23.2011

5.28.2011

The Beasts of Lincoln City

These inexplicable, indescribable creatures were found on a "beach" in Lincoln City, Oregon--2.26.2011

The quotations refer to my long-held belief that a beach is somewhere you wear a bathing suit and apply suntan lotion. Thus far, I have not found a beach in Oregon. Oh, there are places where the surf pounds upon the sand. It's called the coast and I will continue call it that, until the day I plant my chair under the warm glare of the summer sun.

Lincoln City, 2.12.2011

It was just 2 days 'til Valentine's Day.

A seal impersonating a Henry Moore sculpture,

braying at the surf.

Collectibles, in the window

Swimming in Debt

These were taken on an abbreviated visit to Lincoln City, on the Oregon Coast. I refuse to call the sand and driftwood and surf a beach. It's too cold for that. But it is fascinating, nonetheless.

Doll in Collectible Shop, Lincoln City

Homage to Wm. Giles

I found these compositions while teaching at Walker Middle School, in West Salem. They are the kind of found images that fascinated photographer/teacher William Giles when he lived in a loft in downtown L.A., waay before it became fashionable. I call the top one Wearisome Dancer and the one below, Hangin' Out. They were taken on February 8, 2011.