It's winter enough that being outdoors for long periods of time with the camera isn't too appealing.  I know people go to Iceland, Antarctica, and a host of other places with snow and winter weather, but at the moment where I live the winter is visually boring, and drab during the few hours a day when I actually could make a photograph.  So...I've been looking through piles of older negatives for ones that I've not gotten around to assessing, and what's below is one of them.  It' was taken in a park that has gone through a major renovation, and this view is no longer there.  It seems to be a sad symptom of what we in America all too often insist is necessary to justify the expense of rehabilitating a public space, that it be given a purpose which, in rural areas, is usually sport related.  So, here is a scene gone by.

One of the "art" imperatives of this era is the series.  It's not enough that there are a dozen excellent, interesting, but disparate images..."they must be related" is the mandate of  the current arbiters of artistic practice.  To make a lone, one off image is to demonstrate a lack of artistic vision I suppose.  Still, there is merit to the discipline of making related images that form a coherent body of work.  I have seen some dreadfully contrived, hurry-up-and-finish examples of such work that have been published, but an authentic series takes a lot of time. Seasons, and years may pass until a group of images exemplify genuine variations on the theme.

So here is yet another of my multi-year series of black dirt region photographs.  They have that region's trademark homage to irrigation canals, furrowed land, and dark rich soil.  The photographs that comprise this ongoing series are all similar, but unique.  Here is one more. 

I have resisted, and will continue to resist surrendering my years of practice with traditional photography (film and wet darkroom) for the convenience and immediacy of digital 'imaging', but I'm about to make some adjustments nonetheless.  NOT to using a digital camera, but to printing on our Epson 3800 printer, and preparing files in Photoshop from film scans.  The image below is the reason for this resolve.  It's flawed.  There is an unacceptable lens flare on the film, but I really like the negative.  I just don't have the chops to get rid of it in any other way than with Photoshop, and I will use this negative as an etude in the digital process.  It will also open the door to printing on the multitude of gorgeous papers there are to try, and the vast and subtle array of toning possible with inks.  The wet darkroom will be with me for as long as the materials to use it exist, but I think it's time to add another couple tools. 

We live only 50 miles or so from NYC, but it's far enough away to be quite rural in some respects.  Farming is still prevalent, especially in the rich, black dirt region that is so distinctive for its' onion growing.  Yet other crops are common here as well, and other parts of Orange County are very active agriculturally.  I don't know what crop is being protected here by the plastic sheeting, but it looks very labor intensive. The sheeting continued for acres and acres, and I'm sure the young plants will thrive with this kind of attention.  The other field is fallow, I assume, and the dead plants will help renew the earth here.

I've not posted here for a longer interval than I like to allow, but there's just not been worthy work to offer.  What's below is an image from 2010 that I haven't cared much for because I hadn't figured out how to render it until now.  What you see is a digital approximation of what I soon will do in the darkroom that I expect will satisfy me.  It's interesting to reflect on the creative process that, for me, involves a non-linear progression from the inception of an idea to its' final rendering months, and even years later.

I used to live a few miles from where I stopped last week to make this photograph.  It was taken from a little park in Peekskill (say that fast a few times!) just beside the Indian Point nuclear reactor...and I mean BESIDE the reactor.  I could have thrown a rock at one of the out buildings.  The Hudson River is rather narrow here having just made a sharp bend from due north to sharply west for a while. This is why there are some serious issues with its' effluent which is much warmer than the river's normal temperature.
But, those issues aside, the afternoon light was diffused in late autumn haze, and quite beautiful and I enjoyed being there after many years away.  

A mile or two from our house is a field that's been vacant for as long as I've known it.  Recently, I guess, it changed owners, and the new landlord is clearly a Christian.  It's easy to drive past this scene and not notice the crucifix (or small sign  "God's Little Acre" ) because the value of the cross is so similar to the surrounding grasses and more distant trees.  But, I did, and stopped for a while to make this photograph. 

In mid/late autumn the trees revert to their skeletal selves.  The endless patterns of symmetry that one discovers that were never designed for aesthetic satisfaction by nature, are nonetheless truly rewarding to discover and uncover.  A well known artist, speaking about portraiture, said something to the effect that portraits of others reveal the artist more than the subjects.  I'm certain that is true about the kind of photographs that I'm drawn to appreciate and to make.  Here are three.

I sometimes take the same route home that I take in the morning (there's an alternative), and do so because there's no toll, and because the latter part of the trip is though Harriman and Bear Mountain State Parks.  For too much of the year the morning drive is in darkness, but the afternoon drive isn't, and the scenery is gorgeous in every season.  The two pictures below were made in a little park that sits beside a Hudson River inlet.  The inlet is barricaded by a railroad bed that was man made to accommodate the Hudson Line and goes all the way north to Poughkeepsie and beyond. 

And, here's another image that simply celebrates the new lens I bought from KEH.com.  It's a 300mm f4 one that was listed in LN- condition, and seems to be just that.  The thing is tack sharp even at shutter speeds slower than 1/30th when mounted on my very sturdy 'pod with the massive Manfrotto ball head that weighs about 4 pounds and has the mass to steady a lens of this focal length on a 6x7 camera.

The extraordinary October 29th blizzard we experienced here in the Hudson Valley of New York was unseasonable, unwelcome, destructive, and beautiful.  The destruction was from the weight of the snow on still fully leafed trees that were in peak color and not destined to fall for a week or more.  The beauty was from the clingy, wet snow that girded limbs, branches, twigs, and leaves.  Were I a color photographer, the yellows, reds, and oranges of the autumn color show that were set off in bold relief by the snow would have been a real treat.  Still, the monochrome of it all was beautiful to me.  This is a scene from behind our house. 

A week after the blizzard, all was back to normal (except for post storm repairs), and I was again enjoying the glories of the autumnal show.  But, despite its not being particularly vivid in a seasonal sense, I decided to stop at Iona marsh on the way home from work a few days ago . It's a tidal marsh that, were it not for the mountains that rise beside it, could be mistaken for an ocean side marshland. The tide had drained the water and all it would have contributed to making a photograph.  But, I really liked the stalks, stems, seeds, and branches that I found rimming the big muddy, and decided they would be just fine as portrait sitters.

The upper photograph is yet another in the series I've made at Round Lake, one of two lakes less than five miles from home.  The other lake never seems to call me visually, and I've rarely photographed it, but I feel, out of fairness, that I probably should try. The lower image, therefore, is from Walton Lake, the 'other' lake. Perhaps it's the easy access I have with a parking lot, a dock, and no traffic to interfere, but Round Lake has become a favorite place to visit, just sit and watch, and when conditions are favorable, to photograph. Walton Lake is less accessible, and not so easy to get to, but it needs to be attended to.  Mission!!

Autumn in New York's Hudson Valley is over the top gorgeous.  It doesn't last very long so even going to the movies on the weekend is not a good idea unless it's pouring rain with gale force winds and maniacal zombies lurching toward your front door.  These two images were made on Sunday, October 23rd at a little river near Harriman Park that just two months ago was a raging aqueous nightmare during and after Hurricane Irene. It's back to its' gentle, quiet little self now, and a pleasure to visit.

It's very nice to have one or more places nearby that are continually interesting to photograph.  One of these is Round Lake, a modest sized body of water very close to our house.  Last winter I made a photograph here of the dock below covered in snow.  Last week, I was lucky to be free to visit the lake on a very foggy morning.  Here are two images from that visit. 

After finishing the roll of film from which yesterday's post was made, this image is from the next roll about five minutes later.  It's Bethesda Fountain, a landmark Central Park icon, that is an extremely popular destination in the park. I've been coming here for decades, and never remember seeing the lotus plants that are present now in the fountain.  I suppose they're a recent addition, and one I like very much.

 

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Though natives of other capitals will disagree, I think New York City is the most interesting, dynamic, and vital city in the world.  I am not a native, but have been privileged to have lived in, and later nearby (still in NY State) "the City" for decades, and I consider myself a New Yorker to the core. Manhattan is an absolute gem, and within Manhattan, Central Park is a diamond.  Both this year and last, I've accompanied my wife, and now my stepson into Manhattan on Saturdays for them to attend classes at the Art Student's League of New York while I spend that time doing something else. My mecca is always Central Park. With a monopod I got last Christmas,  I've decided to use my Mamiya kit there  These images are from the first roll of film I've made this way.  They are statues of the poets on the Mall in Central Park that most people refer to as "poet's walk".  The poets are Robert Burns, Walter Scott, and Fitzgreene Halleck. 

The most beautiful season of the year is just beginning to emerge from the lushness of a wetter than usual summer.  I've never known exactly how the relationship between weather and autumn color works, but I suspect that this will be a memorable year.  This image is a late summer one.  I will go back later and see how it may change as fall progresses.  It is of a marsh beside the Hudson River in the town of Cornwall-on-Hudson from a road that's not easy to find, but well worth looking for as it meanders by the river's edge. 

This coming Sunday will commemorate the 10th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11/2001.  The images posted here have never been printed nor scanned until now.  I took them a little over a week after the murders at the WTC and they have haunted me since.  There were hundreds and hundreds of posters with pictures and messages begging for any information that could possibly reunite the missing with those dear and important to them.  Those reunions never happened.  I have not been able to prepare these few photographs for this post without intermittent bouts of deep grieving, and tears.  The entire experience of that day has made me profoundly hostile to religion...every religion... and, especially, their particular forms of fundamentalism and judgmental intolerance. 

Sadly, the NO FEAR poster seems to me to be more bravado than reality.  In fact, the thousands of people who still live with PTSD belie the notion that terrorism has no impact on our or anyone's society.  The next photograph tells a different story.

As does this one.

This last represents but a miniscule fraction of the tsunami of grieving, and mourning that brought many hundreds of people, including myself, to lower Manhattan to be witness to and connect in spirit with the nearly three thousand victims of wanton murder and the far wider circle of their friends and families.

A year ago or so I bought two exhibition catalogs of the photographs of Chip Hooper.  I've like his work a lot since I first saw some large monochrome prints at a now closed gallery in NYC.  His principal body of work is of shoreline views of the ocean and the extraordinary variations that occur.  For the past several years I've been fortunate to have been able to spend a week or so at a beach front place in Florida that has allowed me to see what Chip Hooper regularly sees at the Pacific Ocean sites he frequents...those wonderful variations of sky, and sea and their perpetual interactions.  The two 'graphs below were made at a location south of St. Augustine.  The first, facing the ocean of course, and the second 180 degrees behind.

 

When you're facing the ocean on almost any kind of day there's probably something worth photographing.  I was lucky enough to be in Florida at the beach during the onset and retreat of hurricane Irene with absolutely no ill effects from the storm.  Instead, there were the most extraordinary sky shows of brilliant clouds and roiling ocean.  Here's but one of many negatives I made last week.  Not unlike digital photographers who wisely discard huge numbers of "captures" that just don't make it, I have discarded a lot of negatives that just weren't worthy of further attention.  This scan is of one that I will print this week if I can.  I really like it.