Curating

Turn Signal, El Prado, NM.

Alpha Cloud, Ranchos de Taos, NM.

In a short seven weeks Peggy and I will have our fourth biannual show at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art in Taos. Mounting a show as successful as 2021’s boffo event is a dizzying prospect. But that’s the goal. For me the mission is choosing from existing images, hence the title of today’s blog Curating.  And I hope to add new selections, too. Peggy has the more daunting task called painting to a deadline. This is not a novel experience for her.

Upper Oro Mine #3, Leadville, CO.

White Cross. Dark Sky. La Morada de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Taos, NM.

We’re calling the show Immel +Immel, as always, with the subtitle Side by Side. That subtitle recognizes our 56 years as a married couple and that we’re exhibiting our work Side by Side once again. I will continue my exploration of Spot Color alongside the traditional midcentury black and white I’ve been devoted to for more than sixty years. Peggy will display her richly rendered oil paintings of New Mexico and the Southwest. While we work in different mediums our strengths in composition and craft lend cohesion to our work.

Pozos Gold, Mineral de Pozos, Mexico.

For at least two weeks and likely longer I’ll be posting my candidates for our September 2 show which will close September 28. I figure we’ll each offer 15-20 pieces as we did in 2021. Here are the first five possibles.

Tell me what you think.

Music to my eyes

The crowd of 6,000 begins to assemble for the quite incredible Robert Plan and Allison Krauss at Kit Carson Park. Last year it was Sting. Even world famous musicians want to play in tiny Taos. I just read that Plant is worth $200 million and still rocks his brains out.

 

In a more intimate setting 14 players gather every Wednesday on the patio of the Taos Café for a blue grass jamboree. In winter they jam at the Taos Ale House.

Actor and singer Chris Brochu and an unnamed local sideman play a bluesy set at the first ever Taos Roundup. If you look closely you'll see the the musician on your right is the same hefty guy with his back to you in the image above this one.

Taos is known as an art town, an art colony for that matter. The legend of Taos began with a broken wagon wheel north of town in 1898, took flight with the Taos Society of Artists in the early 20^th Century and has lured a who’s who of American and European artists for more than a hundred years.

Hats and hair at the Taos Roundup. Portland has nothing on us. We've got hipsters, too.

I'm guessing five years old.

It was an all ages affair. The falling sun made this striking lass glow.

And speaking of hats, hair and hipsters, that dude was muy photogenic. 

But Taos is an artist’s town in a broader sense. It has a literary scene, a chamber music group, some mighty fine bebop, a whole lot of Americana, a picante spike of Norteño, and a potent dose of Rock and Roll. Oh, and an opera society, an opera school and SOMOS, The Society of the Muse, with its annual Writer’s Conference. Not too shabby for a remote town of 6,000 in sprawling county of 35,000 oddballs that occupies 2,203 square miles of high desert and mountains. There aren’t many of us, but we punch above our weight.

What started as a post about the music by local musicians and major players like Robert Plant and Allison Krause has tilted toward the audiences. The last four shots occupy a subset of street photography it seems to me. 

I contend that you can hear live music every night of the week in Taos. To quote Bill Maher, "I don't know if it's true. I just know that I'm right."

Color it Red 2023

The photograph from San Miguel de Allende was once called Rough Rider for reasons you can readily discern. It became He and His Shadow when I applied the vaunted spot color technique which has brought me such wealth and fame.

This table top and stool after the rain is dubbed Chance of Showers. The image is also a victim of the dastardly spot color treatment. They lived in Telluride, Colorado and the red seat was once turquoise. Turquoise seemed a poor fit for Color it Red but I liked the design so this happened. 

As you’ve been told too many times I have a byline in the online photography magazine, Shadow and Light. It’s a bi-monthly publication that I've contributed to for five years and counting. Among the six issues editor and publisher Tim Anderson publishes two special issues meaning that my series Telling Stories appears four times a year. As a kind of game and to demonstrate gamut I've started submitting to the special juried issues like an ordinary Shmoo. If you know Shmoo, Li'l Abner, you're as old as I am. 

The special issues are Language of the Land and Color It Red. I secured a third-tier placement in the last Language of the Land and was proud to make the cut. The other work was stunning and honorable mention was about right. I just submitted to Color It Red 2023 which will publish on July 15. All digits crossed.

Roussillon, France was the ochre capitol of the world till that industry like tanning moved to North Africa. This crude weaving was dyed with ochre pigments from the cliffs that abut the village. I've called it Roussillon Rouge.

Candy Apple Red is Iggy Peralta's 1939 International pick-up in Ranchos de Taos, NM. It's still  Iggy's daily driver. 

Emblematic dwells in El Prado, NM. It's a portrait of lustrous reds and golds.

As to Shadow and Light, I encourage you to take a close look. It’s handsome journal that I’m proud to be part of. You can acquire six annual online issues for a princely ten bucks. You won't see a year of better photography than in Shadow and Light. 

https://shadowandlightmagazine.com/ Simply highlight and right click the link to go to the website.

My bucket's got a hole in it

Prime waterfront property, Stewart's Point, Nevada.

The view from Stewart's Point.

As to Lake Mead, the story of the 23-year drought is much like Lake Powell's. Each reservoir dipped to its low point in late April. I had read that they were at 26% of capacity then but the boat captain on my Lake Powell excursion told me it was 23% at its low ebb. Landmasses that are now islands were land bridges on April 23. You could walk across parts of the lakes. And narrow channels such as Navajo Canyon at Lake Powell couldn’t be navigated at all. At high water the captain’s favorite diving platform was a rock pillar rising 15 feet out of the lake and in June after two months of foot a day gains it was still 80 feet above us in the boat.

Hoover Dam.

The Colorado River upriver.

Lake Mead’s pattern was a carbon copy. It had gained more than sixty feet of water from the record snowmelt, but the situation is still desperate. According to experts it would take five years of snowfall like we had the past winter for the lake to reach the level it enjoyed forty years before.

The bathtub ring and a cantilevered dock at the water level in 1983. Today it's 185 feet lower as this photograph plainly shows.

Exposed islands from Echo Cove. All that is light colored was once under water.

The dark depression reaching into the desert was once a navigable inlet.

It doesn’t take much imagination to visualize the lakes 185 feet higher in 1983. The bathtub rings so evident in this post would disappear and all but the tallest islands would be under water. The water levels would have been nearly as high as the dams.

Lake Mead differs from Lake Powell in one major way. It’s inhabited along its shore because much of it is private land. Whereas Lake Powell is surrounded by the Navajo Nation. In fact, the land for the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell was acquired in a land swap in the Fifties in return for an enormous patch of desert in Utah just above what would became Lake Powell. My nod to that lakeside population is an abandoned hovel at the northernmost reaches of Lake Mead, Stewart’s Point. There were five dwellings there, three inhabited.

This post is meant to underscore the sad fact that after two months of rising water levels Lake Mead is still a parched patch of Mojave Desert on the outskirts of Las Vegas. In mid-June the place was flirting with 100 degrees and desert coves and inlets once under water were mostly sand traps.

As a recent headline says, the recent gift of water, “is a drop in the bucket.”

High and Dry

Across Lake Powell from Lake Powell Marina is a 100 feet of bathtub ring that was 60feet higher in late April

I just got back from a four-day photo safari to Lake Powell and Lake Mead. My purpose was to show the record low water levels in each reservoir and to write a story about the desperate situation. I have printed three inches of news reports about the historically low water levels and the need for conserving our water reserves. Thankfully on May 22, 2023, California, Nevada, and Arizona signed an agreement to reduce water use by 3-million-acre feet by 2026. Yet, according to many scientists this goal is far shy of the conservation a twenty three year drought demands.

Here's the Glen Canyon Dam from Page. The last bucket of concrete was poured in 1963 and the project was completed in 1966

The 710 foot dam from Lans Smith's speedboat. Note the white ring to your left. That shows the waterline when the lake was at capacity 46 years ago.

I delayed my trip far too long. Lake Powell and Lake Mead reached their lowest water levels ever on April 23, 2023. That’s when Lake Mead was at 26 percent of capacity and was just 35 feet above Deadpool. Deadpool is the water level below which the dams can no longer release water into the Colorado River. I should have photographed the two manmade lakes when the situation was most dire. Alas, I didn’t.

The gorge of the Colorado River just above the dam.

This rock face deep in Antelope Canyon shows the high water mark more than 100 feet above the water's surface.

Since April 23 the water levels in Lake Powell and Lake Mead have risen about one foot per day. So, the so-called bathtub ring on July 8 when these photographs were taken was more than 60 feet lower and a helluva lot less impressive than six weeks ago. The same is true at Lake Mead. Assuming Lake Powell’s so-called bathtub ring was 170 feet high in late April, it may be 100 feet now. And the water level will continue to rise through the summer. This is good news in the short term but conserving the water is still critical. I’m dumbfounded that California curtailed its water conservation requirements when saving today’s abundant water stores for the drought that’s certain to come was the common-sense choice. It’s clearly playing to public sentiment which is weary of conserving water. While the state had been asking for a 15% reduction in water usage its citizens delivered a resounding 7%. It’s a lackluster result. Golf courses, lawns, almond orchards, and alfalfa fields ae thirsty beasts. It doesn’t bode well for water conservation in the future.

Today I’ll speak to Lake Powell. The reservoir was created the Glen Canyon Dam which was completed in 1966. The dam and I go way back. Peggy and I visited Page, Arizona with our friends Linda Penny and Chuck Fridenmaker in 1963. I remember little about the construction of the dam and couldn’t tell you what drew us to Page or the dam. I do remember that there were three blocks of churches and a liquor store for every church. That, I can report hasn’t changed a bit.

Happily, we made good use of the first liquor store on our right as we entered town. We bought a six pack of Guinness Stout and drank it in the car in July. Call it 110 in the shade. That thick brew erupts from its bottle in those conditions I’ll tell you that. I wore more than I drank. 

Lake to Lake

I was the first passenger on the dock for the 1 pm tour of Lake Powell with emphasis on Antelope Canyon which had just opened to big boat traffic. Truth be told I was at the parking lot an hour earlier than suggested. That’s because I wanted to meet the captain and secure my rightful place in the front of the vessel or wherever was best for photographing Lake Powell and where I hoped I could show the desperately low water levels that prevailed in April. This was a big ask since the reservoir had gained a foot a day since its April 23 nadir. In layman’s terms the lake was fifty feet higher than when I should have been there. That’s on me. I shoulda coulda for a month and a half and my story about the drought’s effect on Lake Powell, the Colorado River and Lake Mead downstream was in danger of being washed out after the snow season of a generation. I may have extracted enough images to tell the story, but I made it far too hard. Once I’ve processed all the memory cards I’ll no for sure.

Captain Lans Smith in command

In the meantime, I had fifteen uninterrupted with Captain Lans Smith. That’s how he spells Lance. And, as I have reported countless times, you can know a person pretty well in quarter of an hour. To wit, Lans was born in St. George, Utah, didn’t know what he wanted to do and found himself knocking around Lake Powell some thirty years ago. He and his wife manned Bullfrog Marina before they had kids. You can't get to Bullfrog by land from Arizona. The only way is by boat or from the middle of nowhere, Utah. After some years exploring the lake as hobby earned his Coast Guard Captain’s license and has been leading trips on the lake for 16 years. He plans to do it till he retires. To say he loves it and is masterful doing so doesn’t do him justice. He was engaging, funny, relaxed, skilled and had a breathtaking body of knowledge of the history and the geology of the magical place. When we stopped for a swim, Lans hit the water fully clothed. He said that when it's 110 degrees he dives in at least three times every trip. That dude has fun.

He told me that, "My wife got the education. She's a pharmacist. I'm lucky if I make a quarter of what she makes. So, she's the breadwinner." He and his wife have three children, 29, 25 and 21.

When he delivered his wrap-up, he told the five of us, a family of four from Pennsylvania and me, that Lake Powell Experience had just received its 100^th 5 Star review on Trip Advisor. I bet it’s 105 by now.

The bigger story about Lake Powell and Lake Mead will follow shortly. Thirty percent of capacity is better than 26%, I grant you. But It’s still lousy and we still need to conserve. I’m talking to you, California. Those almonds and pomegranates suck water like a sump pump.

Pilgrims and Martinis

More than 27 years ago, some say 30, Thomas Lauderdale of Pink Martini saw the soon to be legendary surf rock band Satan’s Pilgrims at a Portland music club. In his words, “I fell hard.” He instantly imagined a mashup of piano and surf rock interpreting George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, his favorite Gershwin tune. Mine, too, for that matter. The record was one of the first in the Immel household. Maybe 1945. Gershwin composed the song in 1924. 

In 1997 Lauderdale and Dave Busacker, one of the Pilgrim’s three guitarists, initiated a collaboration dubbed Thomas Lauderdale Meets the Pilgrims. The project was sidetracked by Pink Martini’s meteoric success and hectic touring schedule. It was rekindled In 2011 when most of the songs were recorded yet the album was tabled for the second time. Then 10 years later in 2021 the endeavor was resuscitated, and the illusive album was completed. It was finally released on May 19, 2023.

The album release party at Portland’s Crystal Ballroom on May 18 for Thomas Lauderdale Meets the Pilgrims was a soaring success according to these biased ears.

The album cover above was taken in 2011 as far as I can tell. The players look at least a dozen years younger than their mid-50s selves. It's signed by Thomas Lauderdale and all the current Pilgrims. The late Dave Busacker is the tall one far right. Garrett's signature is bottom right. Thomas Lauderdale is downright cherubic don’t you think?

If Rhapsody in Blue was the song that inspired the collaboration and the record, it’s also thread in the winding journey that got the musicians to the finish line. When Dave Busacker passed away in 2021, our son Garrett was asked to take his place in the band. It was a challenging, if not impossible task to replace Dave, no one could do that after 30 years as a team. It involved learning music beyond the surf genre and Rhapsody in Blue became the test piece for the band and for Garrett. The tune had become the yardstick of the record and of Garrett’s role in the band. He told me they struggled with the piece in the last rehearsal before the show despite playing it flawlessly many times. There was palpable tension when the band began the song. Then they knocked it out of the park.

The drummer Ted Miller told me that, “No one else could have stepped into Dave’s shoes like Garrett did.”  The night of May 18 Garrett became Garrett Pilgrim.

You can Google Thomas Lauderdale Meets the Pilgrims and hear all of the songs on the record. It hit the shelves at your neighborhood Barnes and Noble on May 19. 

Greater Portland, Pilgrim

Satan's Pilgrims in a full throttle interpretation of George Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue; That's our number one and only son Garrett Immel in the middle. He's playing lead on this number. Every Pilgrim guitarist is a bona fide lead guitar player. So is the bass player for that matter.

We spent four nights in Portland so we could attend a concert featuring Thomas Lauderdale, the leader of the orchestra Pink Martini, with Satin’s Pilgrims. The surf-rock band was started by four young Portland musicians in 1992. It was inducted into the Oregon Rock and Roll Hal of Fame in 2022. Before joining the Pilgrims our son Garrett has played lead guitar in surf bands for more than 20 years including many years as the lead guitar player of The Ghastly Ones in Los Angeles.

Unhappily, Dave Busacker one of the three guitar players in Satan’s Pilgrims died two years ago. Having crossed paths with Garrett on the surf-rock circuit through the years, the Pilgrims asked him to step into Dave’s shoes. He was excited to accept the offer and I’ve never seen him so happy. Three of the members live in Portland. Ted, the drummer, currently lives in Memphis but is moving back to Portland, and Garrett commutes from Los Angeles. He loves the band and calls the Pilgrims the best contemporary surf band in the country.

Garrett, Michelle and Peggy at he foot of Multnomah Falls

To tell the full story of Satan’s Pilgrims properly deserves more time and care than I can give this weekend so here’s a  glimpse at frothy, spraying Multnomah Falls aside the Columbia River 20 miles east of Portland. Our tour guide for the best of Portland and environs was the pride of my life Garrett Immel.

Portland's a beautiful city of vibrant self-contained neighborhoods where everything is a short walk away. It’s green, lush, and cared for. And it’s young, energetic, a tonic for these old bones..

Cloud Cover, Edition Six

Maybe for the first time I’m choosing images and writing text six days before the actual drop-dead date for Cloud Cover, Edition Six. That’s because we’ll be in the air next Sunday as we return from four nights in Portland, the one in Oregon. As you read this, we will have attended a concert Thursday night headlining Thomas Lauderdale and Satan’s Pilgrims, Thomas being the pianist and founder of the noted orchestra Pink Martini and the latter the Portland based surf-rock band of which our son Garrett is the newly minted third guitarist. Everybody in the band is a bona fide lead guitarist. Garrett calls The Pilgrims the best contemporary surf rock band in the land. Based on their amazing performance with Thomas Thursday Peggy and I agree. Thirty years young Satan’s Pilgrims were inducted into the Oregon Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last year.

Sunlit Wall, San Miguel de Allende

Drake's Bay. Point Reyes, California

This post is the swan song of Cloud Cover, the series that wouldn’t die. These images have earned their way into the pantheon of cloudy greats because the wouldn't take no for an answer.

The Tetons from Mormon Row. Moran, Wyoming

Brazos Cliffs from 10,000 feet. New Mexico

And the one and only

Vanishing Point. Pine Ridge Reservation

Cloud Cover, Edition Five

Sabron de Ponteves

Upper Oro Mine

Tablas Creek Vineyard

I’m going to ride this horse as long as I can or forever, whichever is longer. That’s because I’ve got a lot of land and clouds or that I haven’t been photographing much. I’ve been romancing the written word a helluva lot more than I’ve been wrestling with f-stops and shutter speeds. I can’t say why, but my photo malaise has been long and deep. That calls for a photo safari yesterday. The contenders are the much ballyhooed A California State of Mind and Deadpool. Deadpool, the shrinking reservoir story, would be easier to service. It's closer, faster and cheaper. Lake Powell and Meade should do the trick. State of Mind demands longer and wider attention. Then again it is California so I'd never say never.

High Sierra from Lone Pine

John Ford Lives

In the meantime, you’re saddled with two more weeks of Cloud Cover.                       

Cloud Cover, Edition Four

The deep dig into the archives has uncovered a zillion landscapes where the clouds packed a punch. Here are five more. It’s the fourth tranche in the Cloud Cover sweepstakes. Be warned. There will be at least more in the series.

Layers of Meaning. Somewhere in the Southwest.

As to the item called Layers of Meaning, the photograph is a complex number with layers of mesas, desert scrub, dramatic summer clouds, and a dark strip of low mountains on the horizon. The clouds are dark then bright and threaten rain. It feels like the Four Corners but may be the broad San Luis Valley or the Taos Plateau. Your guess is as good as mine. I can tell you it happened 17 years ago,

Desert Shores Yacht Club. Desert Shores, California.

Desert Shores Yacht Club has a pearlescent sky that complements the towering palms. The overturned rowboat completes the ensemble and is the difference maker. What the hell is that boat doing in the desert? You don’t see the Salton Sea 75 yards to my right.

Welcome. We're Closed. Rice, California.

Maybe 100 miles away in beautiful downtown Rice, California is the retired Standard Oil Station that beckons me whenever I’m in the neighborhood. The luminous sky makes the scene even more empty. And like the rowboat above the welcome mat in the foreground is the punch line to Welcome. We’re Closed.

Pyramid of the Silver Kings. Leadville, Colorado.

That’s a monumental pile of tailings looming like a Mayan temple in the Yucatan. Since it resides on the Route of the Silver Kings it must be the Pyramid of the Silver Kings.

Upper Oro Mine. Leadville, Colorado.

The Upper Oro Mine may or may not be a landscape. If it is, it’s a tight one. The peekaboo clouds and the rusting corrugated metal are in perfect harmony.