A technique I have long used for finding photographs is moving before stopping. An area, object or moment captures my imagination as I pass, and I then proceed to work at an image (Harry Callahan walked to do this; I tend to drive, due to the massive expanses of the West). In the case of this image, the billboard first captured my attention, and after working the image for more than an hour, I finally settled on this composition, and waited for a train to pass.
Sometimes the most interesting or evocative photographic opportunities require us to be intimately familiar with a place and its changes. This was just such a time, as I found an ancient bristlecone pine uprooted and discarded among the debris from a recent avalanche.
It’s Halloween. Happy Halloween.
I was visiting my close friend George Nobechi in Tucson, Arizona, and he took me to Bisbee, Arizona. He said I’d like it.
One of my best friends and I made a long photo journey to the northern Great Plains and Rocky Mountain foothills recently, looking for those elusive photographic treasures called “keepers.” On the way, we talked about innumerable things, but one of them was the Giant Thirst series, and how it continues to evolve. I channeled George’s wisdom regarding the wider world, and this image is a response.
We needed milk and eggs, but I never made it into the store.
I know, I know: I’ve been gone a while, again. Since the last post in June, I’ve been busy teaching at Santa Fe Photographic Workshops, and making a bevy of new images for my now-named project, “A Giant Thirst.” The project is inspired by an Edward Abbey quotation, given to me by a close friend and fellow photographer, Melinda Green Harvey (who should also be congratulated for being named to the 2016 Texas Photographic Society Members Only Exhibition).
In any case, I’m not going to spend any time explaining the image, per the Robert Adams verse I provided in my previous post; my hope is that the image speaks for itself.