From the Mouth of the Cave

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

I had no idea that my energy for interaction was so depleted when our December Art Show was over. Before long, I had crawled all the way back to the far corner of the cave, burrowed down, and hid out for a while. I pretty much forgot my email password and I sure hope no earth-shattering news was reported, because I unplugged.

I did have some looooong talks with my brother in Buenos Aires. Thank goodness for Skype. Otherwise, The Husband and I would have to live on cornflakes for a couple of months. My brother sounds good and we had fun fantasizing about getting strong enough to tackle that incredibly long trip for a visit. Talking and laughing about it didn't produce any aches and pains and the cost was minimal. It was a delightful game for the holidays.

There were sad talks with two friends that are terribly ill. Each of those visits sent me scurrying back into the far reaches of the cave for another couple of days. Some things in life don't observe holidays.

This year, we got Christmas cards done and I had forgotten how long it takes to make the special effort with the photos inserted in the special cards. We ended up being late with some, but it was worth every moment of time put in. The bonus was the responses that came back and the sound of voices we hadn't heard in a while.

On most of the brief occasions that I stuck my nose out of the cave to sniff the air, I didn't get far. I lost myself in daydreams about the next art show. It would appear that I have been bitten by this bug and, so far, no recovery in sight. I am enjoying the challenge immensely. Staying true to myself, not giving away my work, while providing pieces that some people want to buy is a tricky balance and I am getting a lot of satisfaction from hitting the target on enough occasions to keep me going. For now, I plan to continue on this path in 2011—"lord willing and the creek don't rise".

Since the Husband is off to Los Angeles to ride in the RoseBowl Parade, Galen and I have plenty of quiet around here and I feel even lazier now.The group he rides with will be dressed as Napoleonic era cavalry with the horses properly decked out. They are entry no. 69, I think, and I hope they don't get bumped for a commercial.

As for me, it will take me a few days to catch up—the cave still looks warm and cozy and I did enjoy the quiet way back there in that inviting corner. Never mind, I will venture out and eventually get caught up with all the energizer bunnies who have been posting.

Have a happy and healthy New Year, everyone!

Nothing is Safe

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

In case you were wondering, yes, I am using this new style of processing on some equine images. After all, I can't lavish all of that love exclusively on landscapes and stills of flowers. At one point I thought about joking that I might be in danger of attempting to apply this processing to anything not moving. Oops! Well, at least I can assure you that this horse wasn't moving when I applied the texture layers.

Art Conspiracies

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

I have had something on the back burner for a few weeks and, just to be certain I have pounded all the life from this old metaphor, it has started to boil. It is time to drop a few hints. Why bother with a few hints, you ask? Why even bring it up if I can't tell the whole story? Obviously, you haven't been reading my blog very long. Otherwise, you surely know me better than to expect hardcore reasoning on matters of the heart. And this is a matter of the heart.

As for why only hints, this venture is a partnership. This isn't just my story to tell and many details are unsettled, so I need to wait until I can "spill the beans". I am only good at keeping other people's secrets. Any secret you shared with me might as well be stored at Fort Knox. I carry around secrets that are decades old. I have held onto some secrets until I forgot I ever knew the information in the first place. On the other hand, if it involves me, I am a veritable blabbermouth. If I don't drop some hints, the pressure will build in my poor little brain and I can't handle the extra stress.

Now you know why, here is the what. For the last few weeks, I have been conspiring with my friend C to take some control over showing our work. C is a painter whose work I like very much and C is a delight. It is a great combo. On Saturday, we took the plunge. We pitched our idea to the owner and manager of a local winery. When I returned and walked in our back door, The Husband asked, "How did it go?"  My response was, "It couldn't have gone any better unless Chuck (the owner) had written us a check purchasing all the art in advance."

I don't know much—which is helpful to a blabbermouth, but I know we are investigating the viability of scheduling this for October 1. (Yikes, that's close.) The manager will investigate possible conflicts with local events as well as events that might complement ours. This I know for certain: I suddenly have to switch gears. Big chunks of my time must be devoted to printing, matting and framing. There will be publicity to organize and a million (well, almost) decisions to make. Work not yet finished will have to be shelved for the moment. That won't be easy.

The best part of this, in my mind, is that we have taken action. Whatever happens from this point forward is a bonus.  We fretted over so few opportunities to show that didn't involve membership fees and restrictive contracts, or waiting for the once-a-year Bear Valley Springs show. And, we took matters into our own hands. It feels good to have taken the step. It is going to be an interesting few weeks.

Telling Stories With Images

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

I enjoyed the responses to my last post and probably will post similar questions in the future. A great big thank-you to all who participated in the conversation. I appreciate the time taken to share your stories and each comment left me with something interesting to contemplate.

The story elements that evolved in my mind as that recent image emerged were rather dark. There was a sense of being lost in a forlorn and harsh environment—a cold, brutal wind stung my eyes. Even though there seemed to be vast open spaces around me, I was hemmed in by something I couldn't see. Everytime I felt I was about to gain control over events, I was faced with a dark and unexpected turn. The mountains were a challenge that I somehow had to reach, for the only hope lay on the other side.

I am intrigued by the connection between the elements in a picture and the properties of the story that emerges. For me, it isn't a clean and linear line. It is as if the image whispers stories to life and the stories then play on me as I process the image. I have come to think of that interplay as a kind of a dance. The intellect is in charge, then yields to the heart. I know precisely where I am going and how to get there.... Then, I lose my way and stumble about taking cues from what?  A dream, a memory?

When I stop molding an image—when I am ready to share it and say "This is it—for now", the result sometimes feels like something that is not really my own. There is no one or thing to blame, of course, but neither can I claim full credit—if, indeed, any is due. I led during parts of the process, but there were moments when it felt more like following. It was a process that took me to a discovery.

There is another aspect of images and communication that intrigues me. I have noticed that some people seem to think that if the image is made well enough it will say the same thing to all viewers. Wouldn't that turn the entire communication experience into a guessing game? "Guess what story I meant to convey with this image." That sounds like a really lame parlor game.

We all bring our unique life experience to every contemporary experience. We, each, arrive at any given moment with our particular baggage and that baggage will affect what we read into the story before us. Just as you and I would visit the same spot, but return home with different photographs, shown the same image we will read different stories featuring our particular characters and playing off our personal history.

The responses to my invitation for your stories gave me a good taste of what I was craving—some conversation about personal emotional responses to an image. What more could I have asked? The photo here was taken on that same stretch of highway as the last picture. This one calls to my mind very different stories, even though the setting is similar and the characters in the image certainly look similar. I hope this one suggests stories that speak to you.

What Is Your Story?

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

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?

Sweet Nectar and Nostalgia

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

By now, a blind man could see that I am hopelessly ensnared by nostalgia. As I browsed old folders searching for the photo of the garden angel, I came across a picture of peaches, also taken in the backyard of our home in the San Fernando Valley. The peach tree, planted by previous owners, bore gushing, sinfully sweet and delicious fruit fit for gods. There is no way any mere photograph could do justice to such a fruit. Still, I decided that, at least, I might romanticize the photo a bit and convey some of my wistfulness by adding a couple of those Shadowhouse textures.

Did you ever taste a fruit so perfectly balanced with sweet and tart that you will never forget it's nectar? So delicious that you cannot resist licking the sticky juice off that finger? Any fruit is better, of course, if eaten immediately after having been plucked from the tree. Aiming for perfection, let us hope this experience was savored on a warm, sunny day with just a hint of breeze and you could tilt your head back slightly, close your eyes, and hear the leaves rustle as you counted your blessings.

Ahhhh, nostalgia. Digging into dusty boxes from the cellar or attic, perusing a tattered photo album, or searching through old folders on a hard disc—there isn't that much difference. Mostly, the memories are wrapped in the sweetness of time's healing and today's remembering softens the sharp edges of a time gone by.

Poltergeists and Such

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

There are all sorts of names for mischievous spirits. Poltergeist has long been a favorite of mine. Perhaps, that is because of the smile the name brings me. When the  movie, Poltergeist, came out in 1982, my niece was a very small child and she called the spirits "poultry mice". I love both names, but admit that, in a pinch, I have to favor my niece's version.

Especially after the movie, I fell into the habit of blaming missing objects on the nature of these naughty spirits. I could just as well have blamed gremlins, pixies, imps, boggarts, brownies, hobgoblins, leprechauns, or even knockers—but the latter, only if we were in a tin mine. What mattered was that blaming a small impish spirit was more fun than simply admitting that I had absentmindedly misplaced something.

Soon after we moved in 2008, I told a story about the sad loss of the garden angel who had stood watch over our little garden in Shadow Hills. The Husband had made his final trip to gather the last of our belongings, and arrived there exhausted. A few weeks later, we discovered that St. Frances was not to be found. Somehow the angel never got packed. One of the angel's companions, a sweet garden fairy, and a treasured old branding iron picked up at a flea market were also missing. As is my nature, I grieved for some time.

It turned out that the new owners of our little house had assumed that the statue belonged to the property and that St. Francis had been left there intentionally that he might continue looking over the place. We didn't have the heart to insist on reclaiming the piece. Perhaps it was meant to be.

The branding iron and the fairy, however, continued to be mysteries that nagged at the back of my mind. The Husband insisted that he had packed them. I reasoned that the poltergeists felt they too were entitled to something out of all the upheaval in our lives.

Having been possessed by an urge to do some cleaning in the garage yesterday, The Husband, during the rummaging, discarding, storing, and sweeping, came upon something carefully wrapped in dusty bubble wrap. And, there she was. Our garden fairy. Out of hiding, at last. Returned, I reason, by the poltergeists, but, belatedly arriving in her new home. She has now taken her place among all the crippled angels that I rescued years ago from a garden shop we used to visit near the Ventura flea market.

If I squint my mind a bit, I can fathom the attachment poltergeists might form with a garden fairy. She might even have found the diversion amusing and joined in the game. Fairies are unpredictable, after all, and I like the image of our demure fairy cavorting with wicked little "poultry mice".

However, even though the fairy has been returned, those mischievous little devils are still hoarding the branding iron. Who knows? Perhaps, one day they will give it up, as well.  Let's face it, what use could mischievous spirits have for a branding iron?

I think I will leave that mystery unexplored.

Stories Behind The Stories

(Click on the thumbnail for the bigger, better version)
And, now, that is the truth. Better late, than never.

I will share some stories about my recent tall tale. The details of my story were fabricated strictly for your entertainment; yet, they are remotely connected to facts. Just as nightly dreams so often are connected to real events, my fantasies relate loosely to actual events. They are my daydreams embellished with a bit of pure fantasy. Or, maybe fantasies built on daydreams. Something in one of these neighborhoods.

Because my brother lives in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I do frequently daydream about visiting him there. All my various health issues pretty much preclude such an undertaking, but I do daydream about it. In terms of new camera gear, I am dealing with a serious itch for a couple of things. However, I can say that no Hassleblad model has ever been on any list, so far. My list tends to include more down-to-earth items such as a G12 and a few more Canon L lenses for the 40D and 50D. Some days the daydreams revolve around a new wide angle lens; some days it is all about 300 or 400 mm lenses. Once again the connection with my recent flight of fantasy is iffy. But, if you are feeling generous, you might say that one was somewhat rooted in a real desire.

I had to throw in the mountain climbing because that is something that I never got to do. It is a common fantasy. While cruises have never occupied a great deal of space in my daydreams, who hasn't thought about how exciting it would be to participate in an African photo safari?

I have gotten a big kick out of the response to my tall tale. On the other hand, I am wondering if this is a sign that my primary calling in connection with the blogging world is spinning wild yarns. Yikes! That would be limiting.

Adventures

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

I just got back from a brief vacation in Argentina where I managed to squeeze in a few days for mountain climbing in the Andes. Getting to the peak of Mt. Aconcagua was a major thrill. Man, it was cold, but well worth it for the view. I would have included photos here, but using the Hassleblad H4-D60 for the first time was tricky and I am still working on the files. One of the best parts of the trip was the interesting people I met. A lovely couple invited me to visit them next year at their villa in Italy. Of course I jumped at the invitation. I think I can squeeze them in between the cruise on the Mediterranean and the African safari. The time in Italy will be interesting, since I don't speak Italian. But, I will get along just fine. I'm sure my iPad has an app to help me with that.

Okay, I splashed cold water on my face. I did go to Bakersfield twice in the past week, I did see nice people, plus I may have climbed a few stairs. And, it is true that I don't speak Italian. But, the part about the Hassleblad is created out of thin air. Maybe it was the altitude...No, Bakersfield is down from here, not up. Furthermore, if there is a safari, it will be local—very local—and the closest I will get to that cruise is watching a leaf boat on cub lake.

Isn't it lovely that fantasies don't cost anything? And they can not be taxed. At least not yet.

By the way, in the interest of full disclosure, the picture is a bit of fantasy, as well. Pieces of truth put together to produce a moment that never happened. I did take the photo of the hawk and I took the photo of clouds and trees on the horizon, but the photos were taken on different days, in different locations and then there are, of course, the textures. Excuse me, while I resume my daydreaming.

Texturing Again

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

A couple of posts with untextured photos and I am feeling a bit lightheaded. Fortunately, I had one from a trip to Arvin that I had worked on a couple of weeks ago. Phew! That was close.

As I grow more capable of getting outside to take new photos, my dedication to texturing may wane slightly. The process, for me, can be time-consuming. I don't always reach for the best texture. Furthermore, I usually spend some time experimenting with different layer combinations, tweaking color, adjusting blending choices, and painting masks before I am content with the results. Frequently, there is considerable stumbling around in the dark. Sometimes, it's a snap. I never know ahead of time.

I suspect that it will come down simply to a matter of being in the mood some days and not others. As much as I enjoy exploring a file in Photoshop to see what I can find, some days I am eager to move on to the next project and skip the intensive job that texturing is for me. On the other hand, I may get better at streamlining the process. Learning to more effectively predict what will work would help a great deal. Time will tell.

On The Run

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

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.

Every Little Bit Counts

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

I hadn't even considered picking up the 50D with the 70-200mm lens since my hand surgery. I have stuck with the lighter 40D and the 50mm, or even the G7. Today, I felt that I could no longer stand the suspense and reached for the heavy equipment. Granted, I could only manage the camera for a very short time before taking breaks, but I managed to snap a few pictures before common sense won the day. 

You may be thinking, "why not use a tripod?" I tought of that for a fleeting second, then remembered how difficult it is to open a water bottle, or brush my teeth, and decided against it. My tripod is not state of the art, and I have given myself a couple of good pinches with it even when I was at my best.

I have begun to venture into creating my own texture layers and this is my first time to post an image using one of mine. There are a couple from Shadowhouse that are favorites and I know I will continue to use them from time to time; but, I can see myself enjoying my own creations, as well. 

In The Pink?

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

Since I am still not at my best, it seemed an appropriate time to post my impression of the pink peonies that The Husband brought home a couple of weeks ago. Just as the peonies had seen better days when I took this photograph, I have been better. But, what matters is that I have been a great deal worse.

The healing of my hand is coming along nicely. I am typing with all ten fingers now and yesterday I picked up the 40D and snapped a couple of pictures. Since I had the old Canon "nifty fifty" on that backup camera, the gear was light. I couldn't resist giving it a try. I didn't make any pictures that I want to post; but, that was mainly because the freshest flowers in the house have seen better days. Unfortunately, they haven't aged as gracefully as the peonies or the tulips did. The sound of the shutter was music to my ears and fueled my determination to continue the hand exercises. Keep the Advil and Tylenol handy.

Today, I dream of living where peonies bloom for weeks on end. But, I dream about a lot of things and who knows what it may be tomorrow.

The Road to LA

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



We left home at 4:30 Am Tuesday for my appointment at the hospital in Los Angeles. Since I didn't want to add a camera to the list of things for The Husband to lug around, this one is from the archives.

We may not be overjoyed about the fact, but the two-hour trips to LA are a big part of our routine now. This is my romanticized impression of the back way—the route we take unless there is snow and ice in our area. First, we have to drive into Tehachapi, then Highline Road takes us to Tehachapi Willow Springs Road through the windmill farms. By the time we the turn onto 90th St. West (where this photo was taken), we are past the town of Mojave, nearing Rosamond, and well down into the desert. Say farewell to our mountains.

By taking this route, we avoid the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to get from Tehachapi to the freeway. It saves some of the monotony of freeway driving and usually saves the travel time. That is, is unless you get stuck behind one of the big trucks that use this road. In that case, you have to slow down and enjoy the scenery. Eventually, we cut over to the 14 freeway and then it's over an hour of being sandwiched in one of those lanes among all the other cars, buses, and trucks headed to Los Angeles and outlying suburbs.

Don't get me wrong. Freeways are marvelous time-saving developments, and I am big time in favor of them. Still, sitting on one for hours at a time causes me to lose touch with where I am. For me, it is an odd and disorienting sensation. Narrow, back roads aren't as safe, in general; but, they seem to be human scale.

Scenes along Tehachapi Willow Springs Road and 90th Street West, such as this one, have now become part of who I am and where I live.

Flowers for the Sick

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

If you have seen Tennessee Williams' Streetcar Named Desire, you are likely to remember, "Flores por los muertos." Since I may be under the weather—but definitely still kicking, the line isn't appropriate in my situation. Never mind. I took some liberties in my translation of the playwright's dialogue. I am sure he became accustomed to that.

I wasn't feeling well over a period of several days and I got two beautiful bunches of flowers to cheer me up. The Husband had to travel to Los Angeles and brought home a bunch of pink peonies and the white tulips you see here. Even though I didn't feel up to taking photographs until the flowers were past their prime, I love the look of them in their last days.

I will be out of touch most, or all, of this week. I am not sure I will be in the mood to hunt and peck keys with one hand after my surgery. But, I will be checking up on everybody. That means if you get into mischief, I will hear about it.

(Two of the three textures used in the image are from Shadowhouse Creations.)

Nostalgia or Just Near-Sighted

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

I remain all caught up in exploring texture layers. The exploration has led me to thinking more about how I see. Being drawn to nostalgia (I am at that age, after all) has something to do with it, I suppose. Furthermore, I am an incurable romantic and that obviously plays no small part in my fling with this processing technique.

More important, I suspect, is the fact that I am nearsighted. I remember quite vividly the shock I experienced when I got my first pair of glasses, as a child. All the details in the distance came as quite a shock to me. All my young life, the close-up things had rich detail, then beyond a certain field of vision there was a rather pleasant softening of details. I am beginning to wonder if that has a bit to do with how strongly I am drawn to this way of finishing an image.

On the other hand, I just plain enjoy "fiddling" with images. Who knows? In a couple of months, I may have lost all interest in this look. No telling what I will be up to then. Of this I am certain: I can't imagine ever tiring of the challenge presented by something new and different.

Both texture layers used in this image are from Shadowhouse Creations.

Some Joy Even in Mudville

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

That phrase "no joy in mudville" keeps running through my mind. While other bloggers post beautiful images of spring blossoms, I look at our barren place and think what is this about? While we have some beautiful days periodically, there are new mud puddles replacing the previous mud puddles which replaced the...you get the picture. The temps are still dropping into the 30's most nights. Plant ye your flowers if ye dare. We haven't dared.

Meanwhile, I have drowned the choruses of "woe is me" by returning to a flirtation with adding textures to photos. If anyone is to blame for encouraging me, it would be Mark Graf. After a couple of his recent posts rekindled my curiousity, I decided to give texturing another try. This time around I wised up (this is definitely thanks to Mark) and stopped trying to work with my own textures. Some things need to be left to the experts. There are textures out there created by people a whole lot smarter than me, and I regret wasting so much time before I got the message. (The bulk of the textures used here are from Shadowland.* More about that later.)
*Edit: Shadowhouse Creations is the correct name of the source. My face is red. Don't know what I was thinking about.

You may have guessed by the whine above that my blooms were photographed indoors. I am also experimenting with walking indoors. We have an old treadmill that has been stuck in the garage waiting for that famous garage sale we need to hold. I hadn't used the thing in years because each time I did my back acted up. I am ready to give it another go. So far, mixed reviews and hoping for gradual improvement.

Clearly, walking in our garage doesn't hold a candle to striking out on the lower valley trail headed for Cub Lake; but, it beats no walking at all. The trails are still fit only for the sure of foot, which doesn't describe me. So, the garage it is, for now. Yes, while a half hour flies by out on the trail, ten minutes in the garage crawls along at a glacial pace. Still, with sufficient rewards at the end medicine goes down a little more easily, right? Eventually, those trails will be dry again and I want to be ready.