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Big changes for Alpenglow Images

Monday, October 17th, 2011

For several months now, I’ve been contemplating a change in the format of my website, one which speaks more to my evolving style and vision as an artist.  Over the course of the last few weeks, those changes have taken form, and I’m proud to announce the release of my new website.  Please take a look, either at this link, or by using the tabs you see to your right.

Rather than showcase all of my images, I’ve attempted to choose a few select images that truly are “mine.”  In that sense, Alpenglow Images is now a portfolio site, rather than the “stock” site it used to be.  Call me sentimental, but I haven’t been able to completely abandon my old format; you can still view it at this link.

There are still bugs to be worked out, and I’d appreciate hearing about any you find.  Many of them are simply due to my novice skills in coding a website, but I will try to get everything resolved in the next few weeks.  In the meantime, please take the time to look around and enjoy the images; they all foster in me a deep sense of connection with the land.  I hope they do in you, too.

I have to admit, too, that going through my image catalog, choosing these photos for my portfolio has allowed me to see clear themes emerge in terms of my style.  I think its an instructive exercise that every photographer should do from time to time.

Here’s to reflection and self-examination.

A hiker stands in Capitol Reef National Park in the early morning, just after dawn

Self-portrait, August 2011

Little Mentors

Monday, August 22nd, 2011

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”  –Marcel Proust

Ask any parent, and they’ll tell you that every  day is a new adventure, especially with young children.  So its been with my son, who is now three.  Our newest adventure has been to get him ready for his first “big boy” backpacking trip by taking him hiking often.  Prior to this, he had always ridden like a little prince in a backpack, but as he’s grown heavier and more independent the shift to having him walk was inevitable.

I opened this post with a quote my best friend recently sent me.  Proust’s words caused me to take pause for several reasons; from a photographic point of view, I think there is significant meaning here, and hiking with my son helps to illustrate that.  Toddlers are anything but fast.  Every 20 feet or so, we have to stop and go through any myriad of activities: digging in the dirt, touching every flower on a bush, sticking hands down animal burrows (yes, I put a stop to this very quickly!), etc.  Progress is, needless to say, slow.  But, its a process that’s helped me to see with new eyes.

Go go go, hurry hurry hurry.  Get up, fix breakfast, go for a run, shower, out the door, sit in traffic, work for 8 hours, sit in traffic, eat dinner, do dishes, go to bed.  How many of us can relate to that?  Even with photography, can you relate to that?  I’m sure, on some level, you can.  In the timespan of a 2 mile walk with my son, he managed to show me some interesting tracks in the dirt, a really cool scorpion exoskeleton, and a rock that looked “like a pair of sunglasses.”  In other words, I saw things I normally would have walked by, or ignored.

In a world where we drive blindly between scenic viewpoints as if someone is telling us what’s worth seeing, and we rush between items on a to-do list, do you think we have something to learn from a 3-year-old who is discovering the world around him?

Father and Son hiking at Crystal Cove State Park, California

My new mentor and I, August 2011

Photo of the Month–August

Monday, August 1st, 2011

Sometimes, its the small scenes that really grab you, draw you in, and move you.  Indeed, the intimate landscape is often the grandest.  I made August’s photo in Nevada’s Valley of Fire State Park, where a tiny mineral deposit in the sandstone stopped me in my tracks.  It took a few different exposure settings to get the effect I wanted: to really accentuate the fine lines in the deposit, making them prominent in the frame.

Abstract sandstone image in Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

Dendritic Connections, April 2011

At the time I made the image, as well as now, this little pattern reminds a neuron–our brains are made up largely of billions of these cells, each one connected to the other by thousands (or hundreds of thousands) of other connections.  In this way, information travels in the form of electrical impulses from cell to cell.  While biologists understand the basics of how information is transmitted, they do not understand completely how information is perceived and interpreted.  It is clear, however, that perception is an incredibly complex trait.

Although the basics of perception are probably quite similar between individuals, we only have to look around to see that everyone is different–we’re all uniquely us.  As such, it is logical to conclude that our brains all interpret scenes, beauty, differently.  If you’re reading this, you probably agree that art is subjective, but rather than simply accepting it, I find great joy in knowing we all see the world differently.  There are so many ways of seeing; that’s a fact worth celebrating.

 

Persistence

Friday, June 24th, 2011

The ability of nature to persist and overcome challenges is something that continues to amaze me.  I remember, when I lived in Wyoming, driving to the Medicine Bow Mountains for the first time, and seeing the wind-battered pines that have been successful despite decades of cold temperatures, howling gales, and heavy snowfall.  Many of them seemed to grow (albeit somewhat crookedly) out of solid granite.  We read all the time about organisms that persist in some of the world’s most hostile environments (see here and here).

I just returned from a fantastic trip to southwestern Utah.  High on the wall of a slot canyon, I noticed these trees–a maple and a piñon pine–clinging to the rock, about 60′ in the air.  Surely, these trees have not had an easy life.  While they probably never see flood water, they must deal with howling winds, freezing temperatures, and despite the creek beneath them, probably a paucity of water.  Yet, they survive.

Redrock walls of Kanarra Creek, near Kanarraville, Utah

Persistence, June 2011

This sort of persistence becomes an instructive metaphor for photography, too.  Although it may not be the easiest way to survive, these trees hang on and dig in with their roots, making a life for themselves.  In much the same way, it is all too easy for a photographer to get caught up in making images of scenes that have been photographed many times before.  The real art comes from years of persistence, when the image-makers dig deep into themselves, ask the tough questions about inspiration and creativity, and follow their heart.  After all, your art should be about you.  In much the same way as these trees have created art, the photographer does so…with a little persistence.