Sky Lines

I had intended to report on write the epidemic of homelessness in Los Angeles, a tragedy made evident during a visit there two weeks ago. So serious is the problem that the City of Los Angeles is expecting to spend two billion dollars to deal with the growing crisis. Some 44,000 human beings live on the streets of the city, up from 39,000 a couple of years ago. The issue deserves more attention than a short post but, be forewarned, it’s coming soon.

This post, instead, looks up from the streets to the lofty architecture of the City of Angeles in a developing series we’ll call Sky Lines. The angles, lines and reflections of these urban skyscapes go beyond photography and into a graphical realm that approaches fantasy.

Pretty amazing what lurks in those panes of glass.

G-strings don't cover much

Sheep crossing the Rio de Los Pinos on their way back to Colorado

And finally a potpourri of 2015. Gotta get on with the future, live in the moment, stop living on the past. These are the last glimpses of the year that was. Adieu dear friend, adieu.

School children on a field trip in Albuquerque's Old Town

Corrugated ripples at Tierra Wools in Los Ojos, New Mexico

Monumental cross near Ocate, New Mexico

Drought afflicted nut grove in California's Central Valley

Pier and surf at San Simeon Beach, California

Birds in fog near Tomales, California

The End

Human Scale

Interspersed with the landscapes that dominated the photographic 2015 were human subjects that gave the year meaning. They are headlined by fan favorite Victor “Cuba” Hernandez and the estimable Fred Black, pilot, architect, martial artist, tango dancer and master weaver.

Sunburn

One of the best moments of my photographic journey in 2015 came between Paso Robles and the Pacific as the golden sun swept undulating pastures dotted with stately oaks. I'm guessing that this bucolic glow is one of the reasons they call it the Golden State. My inviolate memory of the late forties in California is of these rolling hills that run from the coast to the Central Valley and from Orange County to Sonoma.

Equally sun kissed is this crescent of sand at Imperial Dunes just south of the Salton Sea. I would suggest that it's better seen in February than in July when temperatures soar to 120. Grab a date shake in Brawley while you're down there.

Walk on by, foolish heart

The Stride, Madrid

Street photography loomed large in 2015 and that stems from six weeks exploring cities in Spain and France. All exuded vitality and promise flecked with moments of despair as above. This juxtaposition of the resolute and the destitute is called "The Stride." It was taken from a patio chair at a Starbuck's on Madrid's Paseo del Prado in late summer. Note the shadow pointing at the invisable beggar below.

Goldilocks, Barcelona

The Big Sleep, Madrid

The French Connection, Marseille

Finding Meaning

Cuba and his Mauser España on December 26, 2014.

Ferreting out the best or most memorable photographs from the thousands taken in any year is a daunting pursuit at best. But then curating a show of your own work is a fool’s errand, a little like being your own lawyer. Still that’s what’s required if you want to take a short look back.

Arguably the story of the year was the sheep herder Victor Hernandez, whom you know as Cuba, and his flock of wooly critters.

For all intents, the story began a year ago Saturday, December 26, 2014 when we chanced upon Cuba on the Taos Plateau. That moment launched me into a 2015 of following the sheep from pasture to pen, from shearing and lambing and back to the plateau and the mountains. The story had enriched my life greatly and has been, along with my series on the Japanese-American Internment Camps, the most commented on subject of the last several years.

The sheep story itself is represented by thousands of images. The three I’ve selected may not be the best of the lot but have the greatest emotional heft to me.

Bottle feeding a "penco" or orphan lamb.

Patron Andrew Abeyta and an orphan sheep during lambing on a raw March day in which 26 ewes died.

Introspective Retrospective

White Sage and Borregos, Taos Plateau

A couple of things happened. I was thinking of posting of the year’s more memorable images according to me. Then Rick Romancito the editor of the Taos News Tempo Magazine laid down the gauntlet for something called the Challenge on Nature Photography wherein the nominated photographer has to post a nature photograph and nominate a new photographer for seven consecutive days. I accepted the challenge and for my first act in office posted White Sage and Borregos which may be my favorite of 2015. That’s the first one in this post followed by its esteemed colleagues Four Year Drought Motif and Singular As A Snowflake.

The nature photography challenge coupled with the task of looking back at several thousand images to find the best photographs of 2015 was instructive and, I hope, worthwhile.

Four Year Drought Motif, California Central Valley

Singular As A Snowflake, San Simeon Beach

As luck would have it these three fall into both categories, nature and best as I see it. Patterns abound.

Still Seeing Red

An homage to Lenny Foster's Healing Hands series

Red has reared its pretty head and won’t go away. These images feature the color red in various incantations, some new and some seasoned veterans. I, too, am a well seasoned number but more of pinky beige.

My friend Marti Belcher, an extraordinary photographer, commented on my last post that red is her favorite color. Daryl Black, who has been victimized on these very pages, published red images on her Monday post. And there's an exhibition called “Color It Red” curated by yet another friend, Tim Anderson, who has red on the brain, too. It’s a veritable epidemic.

To the pantheon of red images I offer varying proportions of the passionate hue:

A spot of red on a Monhegan Island lobsterman's cottage

How much is that doggy in the window? San Miguel de Allende

Street art, Santa Fe Railyard

Still More Still Life, The Red Issue

Continuing the still life theme here are a couple of items from my famed red motif. Note the tones of the apples and the harvest table. So very coordinated. As last week these come from the Dixon Studio Tour in November. Both table and fruit are courtesy of furniture maker Rob Stout whose lovely abode caresses the Rio Grande in bucolic Rinconada, NM.

Apples on a Rob Stout harvest table

How 'bout them apples

And a little something extra from the red school of thinking.

Candy Apple Red

The Talented Mr.Tyrrell

The one and only Al Tyrrell.

We’re big fans of Al Tyrrell’s stoneware. The Dixon, NM potter creates functional ceramics that are simple, earthy and feather light. Al’s cups are the only ones I use for my morning coffee. I have one for every day of the week, maybe more. Every year during the Dixon Studio Tour we visit his studio so we can add to our stash of Tyrrell pottery and to buy Christmas gifts for friends. It’s a true fall tradition.

From previous visits I knew Al had studied in Northern Arizona University’s noted ceramics program but didn’t know until this visit that he dropped out of NAU to work with Rose Naranjo in Taos and to apprentice with Willard Spence.That's when his current studio became available. He took the leap and some forty years later continues to throw his marvelous cups, bowls, plates, pitchers and colanders. Love the stuff.

 

Potsherds adorning a corrugated roof to ward aways birds.

Lustrous Tyrell pitchers on the seconds shelf.

The aforementioned pitchers in toned black and white. Which do you favor?

It's Still Life

When I boarded the D train back in 2002 I was heading to Chamonix with my buddy Ian Cruickshank for a ski safari This tale has nothing whatsoever to with skiing but my $8,000 purchase of my Canon 1Ds was prompted by the trip. Surely this camera among cameras would make me a better skier. Either that or I'm confusing my sports.

Upon returning to the states, my first attempt at developing a photographic theme was one I called Studies and Abstractions. They were essentially still lifes, objects photographed close up and that I saw as little design projects. Then, as now, designing the image was the thing. And doing it in the viewfinder was the heart of the craft, no cropping. What I see is what I get.

Maybe ten years ago I took an advanced Photoshop class from John Paul Caponigro who informed me that still life was my milieu and that I was, shall we say, lacking in the landscape department. As you might predict I found recognition as a landscape photographer.

Anyway last week's post of the lowly wire took me back to the lady I came I with, the still life. 

This may last awhile, years even.

Stay tuned.

Rudimentary, my dear Watson.

This elegant number comes from my Sketches of Winter series.

There aren’t many things more basic and unartful than the thin strands of metal we call wire. The functional material keeps critters out, binds things together and hangs our art from walls. In itself it’s the essence of unimportance. Straight, bent or barbed the stuff is all around us yet pretty much unnoticed, till it is.

Resting on the sand of the the Topaz Internment Camp near Delta , Utah this coil of rusted wire bears testament to a tragedy.

This wire is part of a larger motif, that of fences, gates and corrals. It's an iconic western theme if ever there was one.

These twists of wire reside on a fence at Rancho de las Golondrinas southwest of Santa Fe.

Some enterprising soul stapled these mattress coils to the side of a building in Rinconada. This was featured in the Singular Image issue of  Black and White magazine back in 2010.

Some of these may appear familiar. They're not exactly new but haven't been presented a series so what the heck. We'll call it Straight, Bent or Barbed.

Back to San Antone

As I was finishing breakfast on Tuesday the phone rang. It was an Alamosa, Colorado number that I didn’t recognize at first. When I answered it was Andrew Abeyta telling me that the sheep were on the way to San Antonio Mountain from Mogote at that very moment. He said “They’ll be there by noon. The trailer will be on the west side of 285 and on the north side of San Antone.” I tossed it around for about three seconds and said, “I’ll be there.”

I threw together a cheese, salami and apple lunch, poured myself a roadie of coffee and set off, figuring an hour to get there. As I headed north on 285 and came abreast of the mountain I began looking for signs of Andrew, Victor and the sheep. Just across from Victor’s usual site between two hills on the Taos Plateau I saw a shimmering object that I thought was trailer, but no sheep. I proceeded to the Colorado border and still no sheep. I went back to find the trailer and this time found a rutted path to the shoulder of Mount San Antonio, took it toward the mountain and found Andrew setting up the trailer for Cuba.

I parked the Pilot out of the picture and walked to the trailer. He greeted me and predicted, “Cuba should be coming over the hill anytime.” I followed him over the rise and we scanned the horizon for the herder and sheep. After five minutes or so Andrew exclaimed. “There he is. He’s wearing an orange hat.” And, indeed, a single figure and 365 wooly bulges spread across the llano.

The figures came closer and closer as Cuba trailed the sheep around the hill below us. Andrew brought a trough and filled it with salt. “The sheep will really want this after walking eight miles.” The moment they arrived they attacked the salt then wandered down to the pond below for refreshment. Andrew told me, “In the winter they don’t drink much. Maybe every two days. Besides they eat snow. When it’s hot they need a lot of water. Having water already here saves a lot of money. Otherwise I have to bring it every day.”

While the sheep drank their fill, Andrew and Cuba went about setting up the propane generator and connecting electrical to the campo before driving down to the pond so Cuba could be sure every sheep was accounted for.