I'm under water with images to process and prints to print. So today I'll rely on that old standby, the ever so lovely and evocative shadow. No flowery prose. No telling of stories. Just these nuggets.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Nothing but shadows
I'm under water with images to process and prints to print. So today I'll rely on that old standby, the ever so lovely and evocative shadow. No flowery prose. No telling of stories. Just these nuggets.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
The Eye of the Photographer: Four Guys Two Galleries
This doesn't happen very often. Meaning it's exceedingly rare that I post images from a same-day photo shoot. Today is that rare bird.
This is the first of hourly reminders of the above referenced exhibition. It will run from May 28 through July 4 at both Wilder Nightingale Fine Art and DAFA, David Anthony Fine Art, in beautiful downtown Taos. Part of the proceeds will benefit our beloved TCA, the Taos Community Auditorium. Details to follow as the opening draws near. Mark it in your calendar please.
This morning we photographers namely Bill Davis, Cris Pulos, Terry Thompson and Steve Immel held a photoshoot to get worthy images for our press material. Here are but a few.
And from a couple of years back this studio shot of the Greek fisherman himself.
![]() |
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by David Mapes |
This is the first of hourly reminders of the above referenced exhibition. It will run from May 28 through July 4 at both Wilder Nightingale Fine Art and DAFA, David Anthony Fine Art, in beautiful downtown Taos. Part of the proceeds will benefit our beloved TCA, the Taos Community Auditorium. Details to follow as the opening draws near. Mark it in your calendar please.
This morning we photographers namely Bill Davis, Cris Pulos, Terry Thompson and Steve Immel held a photoshoot to get worthy images for our press material. Here are but a few.
![]() |
Bill Davis by Steve Immel |
![]() |
Cris Pulos by Steve Immel |
![]() |
Terry Thompson by Steve Immel |
![]() |
Steve Immel by Terry Thompson |
And from a couple of years back this studio shot of the Greek fisherman himself.
![]() |
Cris Pulos by Steve Immel |
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Around the world and then some
![]() |
New York Marathon in 1982 |
This month I celebrate 40 years as a runner. Back in 1976 we
had just moved from to New Canaan, Connecticut from Boston. I’d been promoted to vice
president of a major fast food chain after having operated a small subsidiary
for three years. My last act in office in my former gig was opening a new
restaurant concept, a task fraught with 100 weeks and the loss of about twelve
pounds to 168 pounds, the loss of which suited me and that I maintained for
thirty years. This all happened at the apex of the running boom that started
with Frank Shorter’s marathon win in Munich, Billy Rogers' victories in Boston
and the publication of the book with a red cover and the taut and sinewy legs
of one Jim Fixx. For you sports historians that was The Complete Book of Running. In March, all caught up in the furor and wanting to keep my boyish figure, I began running, if you can call it that,
from our house. At first I could make it precisely .8 miles at which point I
would walk around the intersection and shuffle back home. Pathetic is the term
that comes to mind.
![]() |
1987 Triathlon National Championship at Hilton Head. A modest 40th of 102 45 to 49 year olds. |
Some 55,000 miles later, running and fitness have been major
part of my life, behind only family and a good meal. My next 55,000 miles is,
well, a laugh line. I have slowed to a crawl and the cartilage loss in my right
knee has me, if not hobbling, moving gingerly. Don't get me started on my pulled hamstring. Still hope springs eternal and
my delusions may be forgiven at this very senior moment.
You maintained your 168, you say, for thirty years. What about the last ten? It's now 155 but that's more a function of shortage than weightage. I'm shrinking before my very eyes. Kind of like watching grass growing but in reverse.
Sunday, March 06, 2016
As yesterday
His eyes grew moist as he told of the freak snow that dumped
three feet of snow on the flock. The snow threatening to kill all the
sheep and Alfonzo and his father Amos with them. Alfonzo was thirteen in the
fall of 1951 and is choked with emotion even now. It was only October and they were still tending the sheep in the high
mountains of Apache Canyon above Chama. The Cumbres and Toltec train clattered in the distance.
As the snow mounted only one thing mattered. How do we get the sheep down the
mountain and to the safety of the valley floor?
It was a moment of truth and the truth was that the sheep
couldn’t make it out in three feet of snow. And Amos and Alfonzo couldn’t the last for three days and 17 miles without shelter. Alfonzo recalls with crystalline clarity that the first night they slept under towering pines and on the second, wet and weary, Amos covered themselves with a tarp topped with pine bows and needles. He is felled two mid-sized pines and drug them behind horses to sweep a route for the sheep to pass. On the third day they made their way to the crossing of the Rio de Los Pinos below Oshir. At the crossing help arrived with food and dry clothes and they brought the sepp the rest of the way to Mogote and the Abeyta Ranch.
All survived because of Amos's resourcefulness and a father's love. And because of both the flock of sheep that began with a single orphan ewe in the 1920s delivered their wool to Tom Barr's shearers last weekend. It’s a Jeremiah Johnson tale set in the mid-twentieth century, one that illustrates how tenuous yet enduring a life from the soil was and still is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)