Sunday, February 09, 2025

Dark as Night

Occluded Sun near Point Reyes.

As I contemplate my next article for Shadow and Light, likely a Spanish Journal, start a diary, and weigh into the dreaded taxes here a handful of recent images. They are linked by mood if nothing else. I’m drifting toward the darkly rendered photographs even if taken in daylight. All but one of these were. The exploration began with the image Occluded Sun and the ones below follow in its footsteps.

Last Light, Looking southwest toward the West Rim.

Highway 104 between Tucumcari and Las Vegas.

Pump House, Desert Shores.

Cottonwoods, Los Luceros.

More to follow.

Monday, February 03, 2025

By the sea. By the beautiful sea.

One stop shopping, Desert Shores.

Get gas at Lorenzo's.

Prime beachfront property.

Lithium Gallery

Fixer Upper.

Given my dozens of posts celebrating the forlorn, derelict and forgotten over the decades, it’s fitting that I returned to the Salton Sea in mid-January. If ever there was a place that time forgot, California’s biggest lake is the reigning king of desiccation. So, here are a handful signs, sad abodes and bent metal dwellings for your perusal. This follows in the footsteps of last week’s examination of Thousand Palms which is Newport Beach compared to Desert Shores Beach, Salton Sea’s once and would be playground of the rich and famous.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Sunburned

Exurbia

The first day I had a set of wheels I drove straight to the wrong side of I-10 to find something bleak. While manicured Palm Springs, Palm Desert and the rest of the Palms to the south boast gated communities, rampant cosmetic surgery, golf clubs and the occasional Rolls Royce, the bleached hell holes north of the interstate mostly endure or so it appears to me. I don’t photograph the banal and pretty. Give me hardscrabble and barely hanging on every time. I wouldn’t want to live there but can suffer a brief interlude in hades to get the shot.

Fully loaded, Thousand Palms.

Exercise Caution. Contents Highly Flammable. Thousand Palms.

A mighty small lock for that much gas. Thousand Palms,

Five miles west of Thousand Palms is the biggest wind farm west of Texas. There's a sinister sci-fi element to these behemoths. 

All but one of these images hale from Thousand Palms and its industrial wasteland hosting all manner of discarded goods, a gypsum plant, a petroleum storage facility and to its west the largest wind farm west of Texas. A fella longs to get out of Thousand Palms once the work is done.

I have a long-standing series called “At the edge of what’s left’ or “The edge of what’s left.” Some of these will join that august body or become pioneers in the nascent “Next to Nothing” portfolio.

Sunday, January 19, 2025

Une Journée Français, Trois

We drove Jean Luc Lievet to the abbey at Ganagobie where he would spend a month deciding whether to become a monk, his life-long dream. Later we learned he became a monk but left the abbey within a year.

This is Van Gogh's room at Saint Paul. 

Brits in Gordes.

So very French in Gordes.

Fishmonger, Marseille.

Of course, travel isn’t all landscapes and old buildings. On occasion there are people among the eleventh century palaces and Roman ruins. Here are but a few and with them an end to our Journée Français. 

Au revoir mes amis.

Sunday, January 12, 2025

Une Journée Français Deux

12th century Chateau Le Barroux. 

From our apartment at Domaine du Crestet, a working vineyard in the village of Crestet, we were in the center of the southern Cotes du Rhone with wineries in every direction. It was our first extended stay in France. As with Baudinard and Sederón there were easy drives to picture book villages atop sloping hills with forever views of fertile valleys, vineyards, olive groves and fields of lavender.

Palais des Papes, Avignon

A window at Saint Paul Asylum, Saint Remy de Provence. It's where Van Gogh was treated and still operates today with a notable art therapy component.

Crestet, set in a valley with its own hilltop citadel, sat between Vaison-la-Romaine, our market town, and Mount Ventoux. In the Dutch owned vineyard, we could wander down a vineyard row to pluck a cluster of Grenache or Syrah grapes for a purloined snack.

Breakwater, Sainte Marie de la Mer.

From
 Crestet we adventured to Gordes, Cassis, Roussillon, Saint Remy de Provence, Aix en Provence, Avignon, Arles, and Saint Marie de la Mer an hour south of Arles in the Bouche de Rhone or Mouth of the Rhone.

For Peggy the southern Rhone and the Vaucluse are heaven on earth and were we to depart the US it would be her choice for ex-patdom. I’d go with Spain if for no other reason than my serviceable Spanish.

Sunday, January 05, 2025

Une Journée Français, Une

Baudinard-sur-Verdon Evening

We’ve learned the hard way that hopscotching from town to town every other night does not inspire creativity. Checking out by 11 every other morning and checking in every other afternoon after three suppresses artistic energy. There’s not enough left after the logistical challenges of travel to wax creative. So, our preferred mode of foreign travel is to rent a house or apartment for a month or more in an appealing and central location and to take two- and three-night trips to other places within, say, a half day drive. It really works in Europe since distances are short by US standards. And let's not forget to use the train between major cities. Trains rock.

Yacht Harbor, Antibes. It's Europe's largest.

Roman Theatre, Orange

So, we establish a home base where we learn the rhythms of our adopted town and try to live like a local. We learn where to get a fresh baguette, a bottle of local wine and a well-served meal. If we’re lucky we make local friends who steepen our learning curve.

This post appears because my January-February entry in Shadow and Light Magazine is titled as above. Une Journée Français in the magazine is a more thorough examination of the home base and short side trips which have proven so illuminating and exciting. We’ll start with Baudinard-sur-Verdon, the second of our month-long French stays.

Roman Arena or Arene, Arles

Abandoned Tanneries, Barjols. Once there were 24 tanneries in the town. The last went bankrupt in 1983 and the town fell into dereliction. It's trying to reinvent itself as a art colony.

The places we could explore from Baudinard and were legion. We visited, painted and photographed a laundry list of important sites including Avignon, Orange, Arles, Cassis, Antibes, Marseille, Moustiers and hidden jewels like Bargeme and Villecroze. 

Far-ranging and contemplative travel shows us that we’re citizens of the larger world. I can’t imagine a greater gift. Immersing oneself in another culture, language and lifestyle is enriching beyond measure. In my long life I’ve enjoyed seven of these month or more experiences and wish I could say fifty. Since time waits for absolutely nobody I’ve got to get cracking don’t I?