Reflections on the BVS Annual Art Show

(The "bigger, better" version, in this case, has a haloing and banding that stinks and wasn't on the print. If you can overlook that, you will have an idea of what the print looked like)

Saturday's forecast had called for a high of 69 degrees—balmy by our recent standards, and no rain in sight. That was promising. It was looking as if we would have a great day for a party and an art show. Sure enough the sun come came out bright and clear—not one of those gray mornings that have been the norm lately.

The Husband got ahead of me and placed all five of my pieces in the back of the car and we took off before 8:30 AM to deliver everything to the country club. Before we could get everything out of the back of the car, there was a friendly greeter out to meet us and offering to carry anything inside for us. Our greeter was a friendly face from two years ago, a fellow photographer who had been extremely kind and encouraging to me. Another good sign for the occasion. 

Inside, all was abuzz with activity. There were stations for checking in where workers attached official labels to the bottoms of the art, then "hangers" who quickly and efficiently grabbed up the work to hang it on available wall space. Everything appeared to be humming along smoothly.

My work aroused a bit of curiosity at the check-in area. That's not surprising, since there are far more painters involved in the event than photographers, my process as well as mediums evoked a few questions. The pieces all looked sort of like photographs, but not exactly, and that brought up a number of inquiries. The metal, canvas, and metallic paper brought up questions about "how I did it". The piece that garnered the most questions, not surprisingly, was the one on metal. I was told that one of the men working the show commented, "If that one doesn't sell, I'll eat my hat." Goodness knows, I didn't want the man eating a hat! I needed a sale.

After a brief visit with a few people we recognized and some embarrassingly lame attempts on my part to answer questions, we left the working staff to finish their job and headed back home. There was a nice break for a rest, lunch, and then time to get back for the reception. I didn't want to miss a moment of the party.

We got there about five minutes after the doors were to officially open, but there was already quite a crowd munching on hors d'oeuvres and sipping wine. I collected my name tag. It announced "Artist" in bold letters under my name and made me feel a bit self-conscious. Maybe "Contributor" would have been easier to handle, I thought to myself. But there wasn't time for reflection. The big lobby was already noisy, there was a constant hum of chatter and people moving about. As time went on, I heard more than once that some of the missing husbands were "in the bar, having a 'real' drink." Perhaps the getting dressed up had been a bit too much for a few of the guys. The mood was upbeat and the energy level was high. 

The walls of the club lobby were covered with art work. I know I will have to go back one day this week to really take it all in. Yesterday there was simply too much noise and too many people to really see more than a handful of pieces.

Wherever I was I could see that there were usually two to six people looking at my little portion of the east wall. That east wall placement proved to be a major asset. Early on, I was at the back of the hall encouraging a bright-eyed young woman who enthusiastically confided that she was participating in her very first show ever. Later, making my way back toward the entrance, I stopped off to admire the drawings of a new friend. While she complained that she didn't have any really new work for this show, I marveled at her skill in depicting the life in her subjects' eyes.

As I had begun my return from the back of the hall, I had noticed a middle-aged blond woman accompanied by an older woman looking at my work. By the time I left my friend, still unconvinced that her gift is in capturing eyes, I registered that those two women were still in that same spot and became curious about their interest in my pieces. 

It turned out the younger woman had fallen for the largest print in my group—the photo of our chestnut, Lancer (the picture above, but without that nasty banding you will see in the larger jpeg). They asked questions about creative process that I didn't have good answers for. I felt more stupid than ever. How do I know why I added the golden glow to the dust at the horse's feet in that one image? In spite of my lame answers, the daughter was convinced that she had to have the 20x26 framed piece. The mother, however, was certain that her daughter didn't have room. I could feel a potential sale slipping away.

While I caught a glimpse now and then of "the one that got away", M (the artist who knows how to draw eyes) began selling my piece on metal. I was amazed. I couldn't have hired a better advocate. She was collaring friends and acquaintances and dragging them to vantage points to take in the effect of late afternoon light bouncing off the metal. Before I knew what hit me, M had sold the piece and the red dot denoting "sold" went up on the label for that piece. Whew! She was a force to be reckoned with. I want to take her with me every time I try to sell anything!

By the time that sale was concluded, I was feeling pretty good about the show—except for my back and feet, that is. Then, I got a new burst of energy. The woman with the blond braid down her back who had been admiring my large print was back, standing in her place once again, square in front of the piece, no one else around her, and glued to that image.  Maybe..., I thought, just maybe, and made a beeline for her. I wanted to be nearby in case she had any questions, and I guess my timing was good. She turned to me as soon as I neared and said, "I'm going to buy your horse!" Well, that was fine by me.

I left the club exhausted, hungry, and elated. But the best part was still to come. My back had barely survived the test and when home, I took time out only for a greeting for Galen then headed for my closet to change into pj's. I knew I was done for the day. Yes, I would be sitting upright for a while, but I would be totally useless the rest of the evening. When I emerged from the closet, comfy, and ready for relaxation, something out of place caught my eye. While I was in my exhausted stupor, The Husband had snagged my "Artist" label off my sweater and stuck it at eye level on the mirror above my sink. See why I think he's so special? I couldn't have asked for anything sweeter to wrap up the day. 

Thomas Wolfe Had a Point

(Click on the thumbnail for the bigger, better version)

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.

Safaris and Bedroom Slippers

(Please click on the thumbnail to view the larger version)

By the time we rolled into the driveway in Bear Valley, it was a little after 8:00 PM. The last thing I expected to see was a lovely doe grazing happily on the meadow grass in the field next to our driveway. She was in the field that stretches west to the far edge of our property and continues, interrupted only by a few trees, all the way past the fire station and down to Cub Lake. She was startled, but far from panicked and I had time to frantically wrest the camera from the bag at my feet, rip off the lens cap, and snap a couple of shots before she began to move away. With only the 70-200mm lens, I still couldn’t get anything resembling a prize winner type shot, still it was a pleasure to enjoy her wild beauty and get a least something with a somewhat decent exposure in the fading light. We were fascinated by the ease and composure of her exit. Even in my limited experience, I have learned the truth of the theory that a vehicle functions as a surprisingly effective blind with many wild animals. They are so accustomed to seeing vehicles by now that they will accept one in their domain with relative calm. This doe was an excellent example. She wandered off, but she was far from desperate for her life.

That was Tuesday. Wednesday morning, I slept in and was finally up and about around 7:00 AM. First thing, I shuffled into the kitchen and dutifully hit the switch on Mr. Coffee, so The Husband would have his cup of java when he rolled out. Before I could bring myself to start the oatmeal, I simply had to grab some shots of the latest wild flowers. Most of the poppies were already gone, but these latest additions were charming. I grabbed the camera with that same 200 lens because I knew the light was changing fast and headed out the west side of the house—lightweight knit pants, black fuzzy bedroom slippers and all. After simply drinking in the scene for a moment and relishing the delicious colors that stretched before me, I stepped out on the porch and began to fixate on the flowers that were the objective of this morning’s trek.

At first, I sat on the porch steps and that seemed like an ideal perch. I could brace the camera with elbows on thighs and that was a plus, since none of the muscles in my legs or arms were yet fully awake. Of course it turned out that for one reason or another, the flowers nearest the porch weren’t quite right. Somewhat reluctantly, I put the sleepy muscles to work and started out across the one hundred foot fire break The Husband had cut a couple of weeks before. I couldn’t resist wading a bit into the fast-growing grass and flowers and decided to ignore the army of fox tails I was collecting in those fuzzy slippers and socks. The article I had read just a couple of weeks before about rattlesnakes in the valley crossed my mind and I knew I had to keep an eye on the footing in front of me watching for the hundreds of gopher holes out there. Nevertheless, you know how it is: I had to find the wild flower that was waiting for me.

While I became more deeply absorbed in what was at my feet—gopher domiciles, suspicious noises or movement in the grass around me, and bright, sunny flowers right and left—I was aware of movement off to my right. I jerked my head up and found myself staring at a doe that looked back at me every bit as startled as I. I believe that the movement I had seen was her head as it popped up when she became aware of me. We stood there transfixed for a second staring at one another, neither of us wanting to be the first to move.

I finally came to life and slowly raised the camera, but of course every setting was wrong and I was terribly excited. Well what to expect? I am not exactly experienced at facing a deer at that hour of the morning. In the first shot, she was chewing and looked a bit annoyed. I thought I had botched my first chance and that that might be the end of it, but once again there was no panic on the animal’s part. I venture that my heart was pounding faster than hers was. Though alert all the time, she began to wander leisurely toward that stand of trees. Fearlessly, I plunged deeper into the treacherous bush. No, wait; I got carried aware there for a moment. I plodded awkwardly in my blasted bedroom slippers, for crying out loud, into the uncut and taller grass, which of course meant even more fox tails and almost completely invisible footing. I tried holding my breath to avoid further alarming the doe as I followed her further into the field.

After we both advanced a few yards out into the field keeping our distance from one another, she apparently became more certain that I was harmless (that’s an understatement). I could swear that at one point she yawned. Heck, she may even have chuckled. At any rate, she finally began to cross my path and walked some distance parallel to me. Pretty cocky, huh? Because our land is terraced to drop several feet in elevation (eventually the land beyond ours drops down to the level of the lake), she had no trouble staking out a spot where I could see only her face and a bit of neck above the grass. We watched each other for a bit and periodically I snapped the shutter, but mostly I enjoyed our “eye contact”. She was probably about fifty yards from me (according to The Husband’s calculations later) and thanks to the 200mm lens serving as my binoculars, I could see her face quite sharply.

Eventually, the doe became bored and then ambled off down toward the trees leaving me to trudge back through gopher territory to the house. As I sat on the porch steps plucking fox tails from the fuzzy slippers, as well as the socks and knit pants, I turned over and over in my mind the delicious surprise and vowed in the future to never set foot outside without boots. You just never know when you will find yourself on safari stalking wild creatures through dangerous terrain.

In the Bear Valley Gallery here and here, I posted cropped versions of two shots taken during Wednesday morning's safari. I purposely didn't crop the first shot above, so you can get a bit of an idea as to how close I was shooting at 200mm. I know some of you know telephoto lenses well enough to make a good guess as to how close I was with the uncropped version. I wish I did.