No New Address

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Someone new to my blog might deduce that I live either in a horse barn or somewhere on Highway 58. Nope. I haven't moved. No pun intended there. Calling what I feel "restless" would be a disservice to the English language. At least, I can find a small silver lining. Whenever I can sit at the computer, I do spend time combing through old folders for those files that I passed over for one reason, or another. I am clinging to that old wisdom (or is it wishful thinking): "When one door closes, another opens." Heck, I am up for testing the windows at this point!

Looking forward to the next small show in the teeming community of the Tehachapi Valley, I have purchased some metal easels through Amazon. they are sufficient for my needs, but gee, could they only find beginner welders? Not ready for prime time. Another two easels that The Husband picked for me when he was in LA will have to be returned. They are too heavy for me to handle. It is difficult for him—or anyone else—to imagine how little weight I can muscle around.

Since the latest two purchases are a bust, I am reluctantly returning to the Internet solution. The easels are to help me be more independent with my little art show obsession, and I am still a couple short. I have a little time to research, but burn out pretty quickly shopping online. Let's face it. I burn out quickly with any sort of shopping. It is a nasty chore.

What Is Your Story?

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Most often when I connect with an image it sparks my imagination and calls to mind stories. Characters and scenes often emerge. Sometimes, the stories are my own and powerful memories are evoked. On other occasions, the events involve imaginary characters. Some pieces set me off to pondering questions. Another will color the air, fill a room with its distinct atmosphere, and wrap me in a mood that may linger for quite some time. As I worked on this piece, a certain type of tale kept creeping into my head.

I wonder. What stories are suggested to you by this one?

On The Run

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To some degree, the title is a literal reference to my recent life—on the run back and forth to Los Angeles and Bakersfield. There was a trip to have stitches removed and more than one trip for physical therapy.

However, the reference is mostly to my state of mind. Having had it up to here with recoveries from surgeries, I have been spending most of my time either curled in a fetal position deep in the caverns of my mind, or struggling—in vain—to outrun reality.

None of these activities is a particularly productive or enjoyable use of one's short time on this planet. Not surprisingly, I coincidentally discovered that I have absolutely zero aptitude for photography. Phhhht! Forget talent. It dawned on me that I am not even a decent craftsman.

Not only have I been wasting my time snapping away, while I drool on a perfectly good piece of equipment and roll my eyes like some deranged creature, I have actually printed some of this garbage and used valuable resources that surely could have been put to better use.

To compound matters, I have recognized that I am hopelessly old and feeble and will probably never again be able to do much of anything worthwhile. I have more aches and pains than Methuselah ever knew and it isn't going to get better any time soon.

Other than these few distractions, I have been fine. How about you?

Okay, if you aren't laughing by now, I am disappointed in both of us.

I wish I could have reappeared with a cheery post bubbling with stories about a wondrous holiday vacation trip and giddy about all the things I saw. In the end, I decided to 'fess up and admit where I have been.

No sympathy comments, please, unless you are willing to swear you have been there—and be sure to include a laugh line. All jokes, cheerful jibes, and ridicule will be welcomed with gratitude.

Home Again

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The Husband is home, safe and sound. I am smiling again. He sends his best to all who wished a speedy recovery. I assume chicken soup is appropriate for any period of recuperation. Right?

Out in the World, Again

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During my many months of recovery and relative isolation, I had forgotten what it is like to be out and about with anything resembling a social life. Friday, I went to a birthday luncheon (that lasted three hours—hey, women can talk!). We were celebrating the birth of a dear friend and it was a warm and lovely early afternoon. I came home to feed the dog, catch my breath, and collect The Husband to head off to the the monthly arts gala in town, the First Friday event. That meant two hours of hubbub bouncing back and forth between two galleries, meeting exciting new artists, touching base with artists I knew already, and bumping into old friends that I hadn't seen in months. I came home at the end of the evening totally exhausted physically and so hyped mentally that I couldn't sleep. All this activitiy had come on top having just begun to re-read Freeman Patterson's Photography and The Art of Seeing. It dawned on me Saturday that I had not absorbed that much stimuli over the course of one day in over a year. Yesterday, I was still a bit of both—exhausted physically and buzzed mentally.

I had already committed in my own mind to participate in the BVS Cultural Arts Association Annual Art Show (how's that for a mouthful?) this year, and Friday night solidified that decision. The big order for my friend/client, L, is done, and I'm just waiting for some packing goodies (for a finished sort of gift wrap) to arrive, so I can ship it off. I am ready to take on the next challenge. In spite of the work the art show entails, I am looking forward to it. I hated missing out on it last year.

This past Thursday, we were on the road and will be again one day next week. This time the medical appointments are for The Husband. The photo above was taken on the road west to Arvin. Most of our doctor visits mean the road south to Los Angeles—a not nearly so scenic drive. I decided to mine the more scenic photos for something to post here.

The photo is from the shoot, "On the Road to Arvin" and was taken with the G7. This one is a good example of why I indulge in drive-by photography. All along this route, there are very few places to pull off the road. Besides, we were headed home, running late already, and moving fast. There was no time to think, just react. Afterwards, I realized that I had responded to the frame that surrounded the mountains in the distance.

Chasing Sunshine – The Introduction

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Inspired by Paul Lester’s tale of suspense that he has broken into parts or chapters, I have decided that the only way to blog about our Death Valley adventure is to tackle it in small portions over the coming week or so. I have a couple of projects I committed to that must be wrapped up, plus the usual life chores that have piled up in the corners while we were gone. Naturally, I am way behind on everything. That’s how vacations are supposed to work, right?

We dubbed our mini-vacation, “Chasing Sunshine”. (It worked, by the way. We outran the rain and snow, then, as a bonus, our forecast, here, now says sunny and in the 60’s all week.) Starting last Friday, we covered between 450 and 500 miles in the old Tioga and traveled through breathtakingly beautiful country. We saw more than one scene like the one above and, oh, so much more. Although Death Valley was the destination, half the fun was getting there. But, then, that is the case in most worthwhile journeys, isn’t it?

When we finally rolled into our driveway yesterday, about 7 PM, I could hardly move. There weren’t many parts of my body that weren’t sore and it took a generous amount of Stop Pain (one of those a rub-on pain killers that is a miracle worker) along with a Tylenol to fall asleep, after all the unloading was done. Still, I had a big smile on my face.

Even though we had only three days, we crammed a lot of adventure into the available hours, and I have a loads of pictures to edit and process. Since I got more exercise in one day than I had in the previous two months, I’m too tired to think straight, but already can’t wait for the next on-the-road adventure. When I get my breath, I will get pick up this story and share some photos from our road trip.

Newly Mown Fields

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When The Husband reaches for a hoe, weed-whacker, or the mower, I quake in fear. You need to know this, The Husband is a fine gardener. With my lousy back, he not only does the heavy lifting in our gardening, he does all the lifting. He cares, he truly enjoys the rewards, and he is willing to do the work. I am deeply grateful.

However. You knew that was coming, didn’t you? However, when it comes time to clean up the yard, he is, in his heart, committed to what I have named the General Sherman school of landscaping. That’s General William Tecumseh Sherman, he of the “scorched earth” policy. Right. The general who torched Atlanta.

When he announced that it was time to mow down what was left of the wild daisies near the house, I was a little nervous. Who knew what else would fall along with the dried daisy stalks. I watched him drive the tractor out of the shed and retreated to the office, resigned to live with the consequences.

This time, it turned out for the best. I can walk more freely now, no longer dodging the impenetrable clumps of stalks with all the dried vegetation camouflaging goodness only knew what. The ant beds are a new concern, but I have long been wary of the gopher holes, and we do live in rattlesnake country. Now, I can see where I am going and feel more confident to explore beyond what had been my narrow walkways. The first signs of fall are already in the air and there will be more of these cloud shows in the days to come. It’s nice having access to even more viewpoints from which to enjoy them. General Sherman, a job well done. I salute you, sir.

ADDENDUM:

Before the pixels had settled from this post, General Sherman went back to work. The second wave of the battle took out the daisies that were still hanging on at the edge of the patio. War is indeed hell. Now, about that salute.

Thomas Wolfe Had a Point

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Sometimes you can’t go home again. Same applies to Caliente Creek Road. While my little story here has nothing to do with Wolfe’s isolation from home, it does connect with his famous title. And, let’s face it, I can go back to Caliente Creek Road and, indeed, have already done just that.

Sadly, it wasn’t the same. Those magical late March flowers that blanketed the area and the extraordinary spring light that touched the trees just as they were leafing out—gone. There still is a great deal there to interest me; but, as is often the case with love at first sight, closer examination has shown the subject of desire to be a bit more ordinary than it initially appeared to be.

[Note: The photo above is from the March 29 visit.]

The Husband was in a mood for a drive a couple of days ago, and I never say “no” to the possibility of a scenic drive. He wanted to check out the possibilities of expanding promotion of his farrier business into that close-by area, and I happily grabbed camera gear, eager to tag along for the ride.

The fact-finding mission was a success, and The Husband will be asking for help sending off ad copy to the small local paper. However, the drive convinced me that my original idea about making Caliente Creek Road the subject of my SoFoBoMo project was ill-conceived. The flowers are almost all gone; the oaks no longer appear lavender in the evening light; and, the greens are downright earthly. As I’ve said already, there are still many more photos to take along that road, but it won’t be the location for my photo book. The light is terribly tricky on that twisty windy road through the canyon. I will need to study the area for quite some time to do it justice.

But, all was not lost. An unexpected bonus of the trip was our stop in the midst of the ranching country outside the canyon. We checked out the Twin Oaks General Store and Restaurant. The Husband had wanted to stop to ask about the local paper and to grab a cup of coffee—which, of course, meant a treat for him. He had the gall to choose one of my favorite treats, one of those packages of powdered donuts. (I know, not exactly a culinary triumph, but I still remember how much I loved them back in graduate school.)

What now serves as a general store and cafe is an old schoolhouse—complete with a chalk board that covers an entire wall. The building itself will be fun to examine more than once, but the most fun for me was meeting a gentleman at a table near ours. Partly because there were a few interesting photos on the wall and partly because the sight of those donuts was driving me crazy (I have mentioned that I have to maintain a strict gluten-free diet. Sigh.), I soon got out of my chair and wandered. Before long, I approached an elderly couple by the wall and asked permission to look over their shoulders at some fading black and white photographs behind them. I asked a question about the photos and we got involved in a conversation. It turns out that the fellow in one of the photos was the gentleman I was talking to and he had lived in the Twin Oaks area all his life. Indeed, with his well-worn black cowboy hat, dusty boots, and weathered face, he looked to be part of the land.

As usual I chickened out on asking his permission to take a photo. They were eating after all, and once he apologized for being difficult to understand saying that he had just had his teeth pulled. The meeting had seemed charmed. These strangers were friendly and only appropriately guarded, faced with a stranger asking questions. The man’s eyes twinkled, and he was quick to smile in spite of his recent dental surgery. I couldn’t bear the thought of having it all end on a negative note. Not to mention that I haven't explored portrait photography and know I couldn't begin to capture the fascination of this marvelous old character.

The couple left before we did and I watched them walk out, he stiff and seriously favoring one leg. As they disappeared, I resolved to revisit The General Store and some day I will take a new photograph of that friendly face—along with some of the other residents of Twin Oaks, I hope.

Oops, I suppose I have made the point that on one hand, the Caliente Creek road just got more interesting as her blinding beauty faded. Beneath the surface is a grand old gal with marvelous stories to tell—stories that deserve more than a month’s worth of exploration by an outsider.

Norwegian Masks and Really Smart Objects

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Niels Henrikson (who lives in Canada, by the way, but often posts eloquent descriptions chronicling his visits to family in Norway) frequently produces instructive posts and his latest two are especially noteworthy. The most recent one covers some intriguing ideas for creating masks. I wanted to post a follow-up saying first, “Thanks again, Niels for the lesson”. While I don’t do a great deal of masking lately, when I do need a mask I like to have as many possible tricks up my sleeve as possible. It’s clear to me that there is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all solution to creating masks. Sometimes I have to make several false tries before I hit on the one that works in a particular instance. Niels’ tips are a welcome addition to my bag of tricks.

Secondly, I recently learned something about working with CS3 that has already proven extremely useful, and it fits nicely with Niels’ post. If you import your image from ACR as a Smart Object, you can then create a second layer as a New Smart Object via Copy. Each of these two Smart Objects then has a separate intelligence. In other words, if you double-click on the original layer to return to ACR and make changes in that Smart Object, those changes have no impact on the copy that you created. Then, when you go to the copy or second Smart Object and make new changes in ACR, no changes are produced in the lower original Smart Object. With these two Smart Objects and a mask you are in business.

While I have not been doing much processing in Photoshop lately—I do most of the work in ACR, both of these new techniques are sure to make their way into my workflow on those occasions when a photo could use a little TLC.

The Long Goodbye

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For the past year, The Husband and I have been immersed in this life change. We began looking at houses in Bear Valley Springs last October, and since then I have experienced the many stages of moving—the good, the bad, and the ugly. This past week escrow closed on our little house in Los Angeles—a few days early—and one day each week for the last two weeks we drove down to get the last of the things from the yard that had been left there to make an empty house look as though someone still cared for it. In other words, potted plants along with lawn furniture and ornaments that said, “No, this one isn’t abandoned, nor is is bank-owned.”

The people who bought our house are lovely, and I wish them many long years of love and happiness there. Still, my last hours walking around the yard—taking what was truly finally, One Last Look—the feelings of relief from shedding one mortgage from our monthly burden were mixed with sadness—the sadness of leaving an old friend. It was fitting that week before last I saw this crystal clear view of the mountains to the north. We didn’t see that view on a regular basis—it was often hazy. But, I remember well that when we first looked at the property (a little over twenty years ago, now) that view was what I first fell in love with. On a clear day in January, as I hobbled along the sidewalk to the front door—on crutches at that point, I turned to see this view and I was in love. I knew that unless the house was uninhabitable, I wanted to live there and heal while looking at those mountains.

It was a good house and a wonderful home. I won't forget it.

Projects and Letdowns

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I am in that state that, for me, always follows a massive project. Inevitably, my whole system is thrown out of whack by the sudden withdrawal from the extreme doses of adrenalin that coursed through my body during the encounter. While at work on the assignment, my concentration is honed to a fine point. Everything I see, read, or hear seems related to the endeavor and I exist in a heightened state. Distractions either become another way of seeing what must be seen in order to complete the task, or they are dispatched and forgotten. Physical problems are suppressed and I reach down deep (or way up high) someplace beyond the problems for strength, or freedom from pain or diversion, and forge ahead. Real-life problems and worries get pushed under the proverbial rug. The reserves of energy and clarity that are called in to play produce a sense of heightened abilities and an increased awareness that, for a time, make almost anything seem possible.

Finally, when the work is done, the plunge back to normalcy—that let down or falling back to earth—many of us feel after completing a sizable creative endeavor is very real for me. You would think I would be better at managing it, since I have lived with it (off of it, for it, whatever) most of my life. Unfortunately, I am only marginally better at managing my energies now than I was when I first began participating in theatre and enduring the letdown that inevitably ensued as soon as the curtain fell on the final performance.

SoFoBoMo has had that effect on me. This isn’t a complaint. I am thoroughly delighted that I took part and wouldn’t take it back for anything. What I learned was, for me, the equivalent of a one-month crash course through a year’s worth of information. I will be profiting by the experience and blessing it for years to come. Still, it’s there—the sense of being a bit at loose ends—that space where all that energy was created and spent feels particularly empty right now.

This time around all these feelings are compounded by some other issues. Since we are in limbo—neither here nor there—moving supposedly, yet there is no movement—the lostness is intensified. Having only recently given up running my studio plays into this, of course. With teaching those very personal classes, I always had several creative projects I was juggling. After all, each actor was a work in progress and my contribution in guidance was part of a long-term creative project that was never really complete and produced a steady stream of challenge and frustration tempered with satisfaction and encouragement. Thus, for me, another project is a matter of survival. I can’t control that potential buyer out there who is going to buy our house. I can’t begin the next adventure until I am physically in that place.

My way of dealing with this lostness, was to begin a project and see if I can make something. (I have already mentioned my secret.) Sure enough,the work—the intense focus is pushing me through this period and taking my mind off things I can't control. Somewhere along the way my family came up with a silly saying when I was growing up. I have no earthly idea where it came from, but when someone was doing something not really responsible, or even harmlessly foolish, one of us (in the beginning one of my parents, probably) would say with a grin, “Well, at least it keeps him out of the pool halls.” So here I am. At least I won’t be hanging out in any pool halls for the next couple of weeks.

After a No-Photo Day

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Sunday was a no-photo day. Open House (just looky-loo’s this week) and taxes. Ummm. Fun and games for all. Today, it’s more taxes, but I hope to work in a few minutes of shooting. After all, I am perpetually “on location” with my project.

For several days, I have intended to call attention to this comment left here by Gordon McGregor on an earlier post (“The Sound of the SoFoBoMo Starting Gun”). Gordon quite generously gave me some tips for printing with Shutterfly. (Be sure to read Gordon's entire comment, but these are the highlights.)

“The trick … is to turn off the 'VividPics' feature which is on to 'enhance' every image you print with them, by default.”

“They also have quite a bit of ICC / profile info in the shutterfly help system - search for 'profile' and get more than you probably want to know.”

There are a number of things I like so far about Shutterfly: the quality paper they use, the sizes they offer, the ease of their interface (for a basic rush project), the general quality of reproduction, and the speed of delivery. Based on those considerations and armed now with Gordon’s tips, I might well use them another time in the future. The next time I must order the book before another freebie offer comes up. Otherwise, I will start to feel guilty.

It's Alive!

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Uh-oh, my SoFoBoMo book is morphing—taking on surprising new characteristics, and all those soothing certainties are slipping away. I am confident that this will be all for the better—even excited about new directions. Still, the rapidity with which my clarity evaporated and the ambiguity that has crept into its place are unsettling.

I had been so sure that I had a real handle on what I would shoot, how I would shoot, and some fairly strong convictions about the overall look of the book, if not the specifics of layout and design. However, in just three days of stirring up the feelings that fuel my project, I am back to rethinking much of my plan.

My book is titled—for now, at least—“One Last Look” and is meant to be a visual record of my immediate surroundings for the last twenty years. I knew that digging into my feelings about this move—fear, doubt, buyers’ remorse, and this weird pre-nostalgia melancholy—would arouse all the ambiguity I was already experiencing about the upcoming life-change.

I can’t say the emotions are a surprise. For some time I resisted the project choice in an attempt to avoid the pain. Furthermore, I recognize the lack of certainty as a positive sign that my unconscious is working—eager to play its role in this endeavor. For the moment, I am caught in the struggle for dominance between my conscious mind’s craving for safe predictability and my subconscious mind’s urge to experiment, play and plunge into the unknown. I was so sure this was settled. The next few days should be interesting, as I attempt to hold on through the twists and turns of discovery.

Our Little Bit of Heaven

Well, folks, what do you think? We believe it has potential. Sure, there is a lot of work to be done, but it's a great location.

Only kidding. This is the real McCoy. This is where we will soon be hanging our hats.

You do know the camera can lie like crazy, don’t you? I feel compelled to admit that just beyond the garage (on the left side of the picture) there is a fence; and right over that fence, you would see our neighbor’s house, barn, and horses in their pastures. Furthermore, if I had stood on our front porch and taken a picture facing that way, you would see, all the neighbors’ places on the other side of the road. But, our place looks so wonderfully idyllic, so private and “country” this way. After all, I didn’t add anything to the photograph, and I didn’t delete anything after the fact. It’s just what I chose to leave out of the frame. Tricky, I know, but photographers do this sort of thing.

Even with the confession of framing the scene to best advantage, can you see why we call it our Big Sky country? At last, we have a place where The Husband can finally play at being gentleman rancher. Meanwhile, The Wife can chronicle the stories of “A Man and his Bush Hog” (that's the tractor, in case you know as little about tractors as I do), “The Gentleman Rancher and the Arabian Steeds”, and “The City Slickers Go Country—Sort Of”.

Trees—You Know Me

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So many distractions since the last post that to go into all of them in any detail would be...well, distracting. The brief version is a couple of family members in crises, some travel for us, and some big projects in the works.

The photo above was taken during one of my favorite stops, at Dead Horse Ranch State Park in Arizona. I wanted to move there. Unfortunately, you can only visit. Like so many others, I imagine, I was curious about the odd name for this beautiful park. I found this at the website http://www.pr.state.az.us/Parks/parkhtml/deadhorse.html

"How Dead Horse Ranch Got Its Name
The story of the park's name begins with the Ireys family, who came to Arizona from Minnesota looking for a ranch to buy in the late 1940's. At one of the ranches they discovered a large dead horse lying by the road. After two days of viewing ranches, Dad Ireys asked the kids which ranch they liked the best. The kids said, "the one with the dead horse, Dad!" The Ireys family chose the name Dead Horse Ranch and later, in 1973, when Arizona State Parks acquired thepark, the Ireys made retaining the name a condition of sale."

Mountain Tops

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By standing atop top a bench on our deck, I can get a good look above the rooftops and telephone wires at the mountains across our valley. This was one of those glorious fall days embellished by stunning cloud formations. When I took this shot, I was reminded of a post I read on one of my favorite photoblogs (It may have been Paul Maxim's site --I stop by there regularly to enjoy seeing the world through his eyes). He was mulling over the perverse nature of photographers. To paraphrase the observation that caught my attention, most people might look up at the sky on a given occasion and say something like, "What a gorgeous day. Not a cloud in the sky." The photographer standing next to that person is thinking: "Drat. Not a cloud in the sky. Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day."

Check out Paul Maxim's blog and enjoy his beautiful work http://www.paulmaximphotography.com/.

Borrowing a View

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I thought it was time to change the subject. So I went back to the Eastern Sierra file for this one.

When we spent the night at Brown's Town Campground in Bishop on the the way to Bridgeport, this was the view our golfing neighbors were enjoying. All we had to do was look over the top of the open wire fence and we, too, had a clear view of the mountains to the northeast.