To live in Colorado is seemingly to be in continuous interaction with fiercely beautiful mountains, lakes, sunsets, and vistas. It's easy for me to neglect this while wrapped up in the movement and tension of life, which makes an evening like last night so special. Four people, four cameras. A simple drive, a simple task: just stop and enjoy this place.
In honor of this guy, who's currently soaring through the air on his way back to Europe, here's a shot from the other day at the Sanitas Brewing taproom on Fuji film that expired in 2003. Fingers crossed that I can make it over to visit soon.
Sunrise Hike
Peaceful hike up Bear Peak this morning for the sunrise. There's no replacement for the sensations that come with tossing yourself into nature. I don't do this enough.
Ed
Pentax 6x7, 105mm f/2.4, Kodak Portra 160
What does this image make you think? This man. What are your expectations?
It happens to me over and over again. I walk up to someone with a certain expectation of what they'll be like and quickly find myself wondering where those preconceptions ever came from. I'm always proven wrong, most of the time in a huge way. It's so much easier to accept what others tell you about people than to actually learn the reality. The truth is, I classify people when I shouldn't because it makes the somewhat frightening task of approaching a stranger a tidbit easier. I shouldn't. I'm working on it.
This is Ed. Ed is homeless. He's wearing tattered clothing and sitting on his backpack and coat. I shot this photo just as I was approaching him and, as you can see, he's not exactly giving me the most welcoming look.
Ed went to college in 1969. He hesitated before revealing that he had, in fact, graduated from Yale. With the Clintons (well, one was a Rodham at the time). Very shortly after we started talking, he opened up into a big smile and looked immediately relaxed. He's smart, tack sharp, articulate, and kind. I had to scramble just to keep up with his vocabulary as we started talking about philosophy and psychology. (I still looked up a few words when I got home.) He said, and I certainly suspected it, that Yale was an interesting place for him during the civil rights movement, though he said it was mostly peaceful for him. He has a hearty laugh that caught me off guard when we started swapping stories from our pasts. I often see him sitting in downtown Boulder by the City Hall building, usually by himself, in silence. He's clearly a very contemplative soul. After we had been talking for a bit, I asked him if he's happy. He paused (but didn't hesitate) before telling me that yes, he's found a life that is very satisfying to him. Then he laughed and added that his current living situation may not be typical of such an answer. It was obvious from talking to him that he's happier than most. Or more deeply happy. I think that's different.
I shot another photo after our lengthy discussion, just as the sun was going down. This photo shows him much more relaxed, but unfortunately, this second and final image of him happened to get him mid-blink. The film gods are teaching me not to be stingy with my film use. That is, after all, one of the greatest things about photography: I'm always learning.
Chloe
I had the opportunity this past week to meet and shoot with Chloe, a local model. I've been wanting to start working with models for a while now, but I'm just starting to get into it. Needless to say, she was great and these are just a few of my digital images that I like. I'm still waiting for a couple rolls of film to be processed, but my patience ran out and I wanted to share. So, here.
70 Years After Liberation
Today marks the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. Though these images were all taken on a solo trip in 2011 (a cloudy summer morning, June 8th – it was a Wednesday), the memories of walking these grounds and hearing stories of prisoners will never leave me. These photos were taken both at Auschwitz and the much larger, nearby Auschwitz II-Birkenau (with its "Gate of Death" – the train entryway). As I type this entry, a gathering of survivors from Auschwitz is taking place at the camp in Poland to commemorate what is likely the last time this aging group of individuals will come together.
Looking back as I watch the broadcast of the ceremony of survivors, I can't help being confounded. I'm watching survivors, descendants of survivors, and leaders of nations walk precisely where I've walked on this bloodstained land – where over 1.1 million innocent, murdered people once walked. I'm confounded and saddened because it seems to me based on the world I often see around me, that what happened here in the deepest sense, is forgotten. Needless to say, I hope I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just too young to understand. Perhaps.
To those of you who haven't visited a WWII concentration camp or death camp: Regardless of your background, whether you're Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, nonreligious or anything else, I have only one piece of advice: Go. I highly encourage you to make time and find a way to expose yourself to such a place. Walk through the Gate of Death, dig your fingers into the earth, take in the smells and consider that the things that you're seeing were once seen just the same by curious, kind individuals who were mercilessly killed. And don't be surprised if your perspective on contemporary issues changes during the process. It's impossible to comprehend the atrocities that took place somewhere like Auschwitz (even when I stood in the gas chambers, looking up at the corroded, rectangular hole in the ceiling from where the deadly Zyklon B gas was dispensed). I can't begin to wrap my head around the number of people killed or the ability of humans to actually do such a thing. I can't describe this place properly with words and I can't do it with photos. My hope is that our memory of this time in history remains, long after those who were liberated 70 years ago today are no longer here to speak their stories. So my advice stands:
See this place. It's important.
"The Gate of Death"
A sampling of some of the eyeglasses confiscated from prisoners.
The wall in the center of the frame was used specifically as a backdrop for public executions.
Sleeping quarters.
Train car along the sorting platform at Auschwitz II - Birkenau
Cremation ovens. Only one of many remained standing after the Nazis attempted to destroy evidence of their crimes.
Morgan
The original purpose of this shoot with Morgan was to run some film through the massive Pentax 6x7, however, the camera decided after the second photograph that it wasn't going to continue working. Luckily I had my trusty Nikon digital around so we had fun despite the film malfunction (not to worry, the Pentax is working once again – it just had to thaw). Morgan brought along her Great Dane, Monty, and he reluctantly posed for a few shots as well.
A short drive around any portion of Colorado will likely reveal drastically different weather conditions. I ventured up to Estes Park this morning and just to illustrate the point, the first photo below was taken just south of the city (Longs Peak poking out in the center of the frame). The second photo was taken about 15 minutes later (probably 10 miles south). It just goes to show, if it's cloudy or unpleasant where you are in Colorado, just go over a few hills and you'll probably find better weather.
Benchkraft
Often when I look at goods I've bought or acquired, I find myself considering only the tools that shaped and made them. The reality is, things worth having often have very little to do with the tools that physically formed them, and everything to do with the hands that held the tools.
I got a chance to shoot with Jon of Benchkraft a few days ago. He's a fellow Boulderite (I prefer Bouldarian) and a passionate maker here in town. I highly suggest you check out his stuff and keep an eye on this company over the next several months.
2014: Year in Review
It’s exciting to look back at 2014 and consider everything that’s happened. From the big move from Texas to Colorado, to traveling around Israel with a huge group of incredible people (feels like yesterday), spending time camping in Big Bend and Marfa, Texas, visiting my sister in Atlanta, exploring Venice and the countries along the Adriatic with the extended family, and touring Texas with my German roommate, it’s been a pretty special year. Looking through my photos from the past twelve months, I’m blown away by the people that have come into my life, the incredible conversations I’ve had, and the overwhelming compassion I’ve experienced.
The following may not all be the technically best photos from my year, but they’re some of the ones that mean the most to me. These images show people in love, people in pain, and those simply in their most comfortable environments. They show moments of joy, places that consumed me, and the faces of people that have enriched my life and broadened my perspective on the world around me. These photos hold some of the most powerful moments and experiences from my year. I hope you enjoy.
Truly, thanks to all of you who were a part of my year. It's been a wonderful one and I look forward to 2015 with each of you.
The Camera is Simply a Tool (Mostly)
I make an effort never to romanticize the digital camera. While photographing in a business setting, I have to treat the camera solely as a mechanical object – a tool that responds to my direction and functions as an extension of myself and my search for the meaningful moments, whether it's a portrait shoot or a wedding reception. I trust my cameras to be reliable, fast, and consistent, like any other trade that relies on tools. But an odd scenario today has brought out a little bit of sentimentality towards a piece in my toolbox. This afternoon, I parted ways with my very first professional camera and sold it to another local photographer.
It was 2010. After saving for months, I bought this shiny new (and bank account-draining) Nikon D700 camera in college and began the journey that led to today. This camera was with me as I practiced the basics of photography. I had moments of pure bliss with it and periods of disappointment when I couldn't get the shots I wanted. After getting into the motions of shooting with it, making technical and setting adjustments on the fly became thoughtless exercises towards creating the photographs I was seeing through the camera. It's truly uncanny what happens when you move at the same frequency as the tool you're using.
This camera has been with me in 17 countries, on countless airplanes/trains/cars/motorcycles, on camping trips across the United States, in hurricane-like downpours and blizzards and searing heat. It has heard the stories and shot portraits of hundreds of people from all different backgrounds around the world. It has seen the uninhibited love of couples getting engaged and married. It has also seen people so deeply depressed that they no longer want to live. It was with me in rural Poland at three in the morning when the Polish Police shook me awake and tried to kick me off the night train for not having the right travel documents. It's been my loyal companion on solo trips when the loneliness of travel started to get heavy. It was my counterpart as I learned to push down the butterflies and approach strangers for portraits, first in the winding streets of Venice in 2011. I've loved this camera and I've blamed it (unfairly) for when things have gone wrong. In much of my travels, it's been the only constant – the only thing that's witnessed my journeys and some of my most formative memories.
The camera is a tool is a statement I've considered for years. But after today, I think I need to slightly change it and add mostly to the end. After spending years relying on a piece of machinery for creative expression and business plans during some dramatic ups and downs, it's hard not to develop a sense of fondness and sentimentality for it. For that, I feel a bit empty seeing it go. But at the end of the day, I still have the photos and the memories. Along with newer, better tools.
Out with the old. But not without feeling.
So to end this uncharacteristically long bit of words, here's a shot taken a few years back with this trusty camera. I was nearing the end of a backpacking trip and found myself alone walking the streets of Krakow late one evening, tired, homesick and fighting an eye infection picked up in Slovenia. But I still found it impossible to not be in awe of the approaching stormy clouds and the fantastic architecture and sounds that surrounded me. Then and now, I'm thankful for the solid camera that accompanied me without flaw in these stories.
It snowed most of the day today, though most of it didn't stick. The change in the outdoors brought the point home just how much weather affects my thought process. I watched the snow while I was getting some prints ready for clients this afternoon and it got me into a dreamy state of mind (which hasn't really left me yet), hence the photo of reflections in a part of downtown Boulder taken tonight. Snow seems to open pathways in my mind that aren't accessible in the typical day-to-day sunshine or cloudy day. Colors and textures and people and dogs and reflections and geese (lots of geese in Boulder right now) are all somehow much more interesting and thought provoking, though I'm not quite sure why.
Perhaps it's the infrequent nature of snow. Or maybe it's how it seems to inhale all the noise out of any scene. Maybe it's the numb fingers holding my camera or the itchy layers of sweaters, scarves, hats and coats that I have to wear to keep out the cold. Whatever it is, I'm always happy for the mental break and change in perspective it lends.
Georg
This is Georg, my roommate. We met on Craigslist, which is (I think) one step classier than meeting on Tinder. Georg is from Stuttgart, Germany and is working on his Aerospace Engineering thesis here at CU Boulder.
He stood in about a month ago for me after I got a new studio light and I'm just getting around to sharing. I've been working with Paul C. Buff lights for a while now, but I just got my hands on one of their fancier Einstein units. I'm already loving using it with just a basic softbox. Lots of control over the output and it has a much more consistent color temperature than the Alienbees units I've used in the past.
Fitz & The Tantrums
Last night I got to shoot the Fitz & The Tantrums concert at the beautiful Boulder Theater. I've only recently begun listening to these guys, but given their style (self-dubbed neo-soul, Motown-inspired), I figured they would be fun to watch live. They didn't disappoint. This concert was an overload of energy and emotion, which made it a really great experience to shoot. Thanks to the Boulder Theater crew for providing the photo pass and making it easy for me to get these shots. I don't often get to shoot music, but I'm pretty pleased with what I came away with.
Ibashi-i
This has to be one of the most misleading portraits I've ever made.
Despite the serious demeanor, this guy is about as animated, cheerful, and smiley as they come (he struck a pose when I asked if I could shoot a picture). I couldn't help but get pulled in by his enthusiasm when we were talking. If you live in Boulder or have visited in the last 20-something years, you probably know this guy as the local contortionist. His name is Ibashi-i (not his legal name, but the one he prefers) and he performs on Pearl Street in downtown Boulder. I would have never guessed it based on his energy when I see him perform, but he told me today that he just turned 58. He was born in St. Kitts in the Caribbean and moved to the states in the '80s. He's been performing for over 40 years and he says the main reason he does it is to convince people to stretch and take care of their bodies. Healthy bodies make for healthy minds and healthy minds make for better lives.
For the past week, the snow has blanketed the city of Boulder with a shiny coat and a dense silence. When I was sitting waist-deep in snow at Chautauqua Park a few days ago, my ears almost ached at the lack of noise around me, soaked up by the snow.
I don't know if it's the cold or just my unique internal clock, but I've been waking up earlier since the weather changed. The scenery provides a nice backdrop for contemplative early morning walks. There's nothing better than starting your day with a fresh outlook and a clear mind. It's taken me until now, but I think I've also finally figured out how to dress in order to remain somewhat comfortable in below-freezing temperatures.
The temperatures are rising now and the snow is melting away. My Texan self was pretty worried about how I would handle my first Colorado winter, but now that this little intro to cold weather is passing, I'm feeling much more confident.
My obligatory Chautauqua Park photo. Regardless of whether it's summer, fall, or winter, I'm completely blown away by how beautiful this place is.
Snow at CU Boulder
My ears and toes are still thawing from walking around this morning, but I couldn't stand not getting out in this snow when the sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds. Brianne was kind enough to cart my frozen self around the CU campus so I could take a few photos and enjoy this gorgeous place.
Gaffer
"I don't have many songs that are younger than 100 years old. And very few are in English."
There's always something happening on Pearl in Boulder. I've heard this man's powerful voice and plucking of the harp once before but was unable to stop and enjoy it. Tonight I had the chance to talk to him for a few minutes – more importantly, I had the chance to listen to him while he wrapped up his evening. His name is Gaffer and he's been performing in Boulder since 2000. Very few musicians I've met seem to care as little as he does about the amount of money he makes on his music. It is so visible on his face while he plays that the satisfaction he gets from the music itself is much more valuable. He told me that he's had downloads of his songs available online for ten years and has made a total of $30 from it, though he did repeat that financial earnings aren't the point. He also made the case that the generosity of this city has shifted noticeably since he started in Boulder almost 15 years ago (today, people more readily give to those with cardboard signs than to individuals trying to share their art and enrich the community). The manner in which he said this made me think he wasn't hurt by this personally, but on a more humanistic level.
He finished his set with an English song, one made famous in the '60s by Louis Armstrong – What a Wonderful World. And it was obvious he meant every word.
Gaffer took a moment with eyes closed and sat with his harp after he finished a song.
Mike
I drove up to Nederland this morning in search of the sunrise and some time in nature. Instead, I found a great conversation. I stopped off at Train Cars Coffee and Yogurt Company (which is, not surprisingly, a coffee shop inside a set of old train cars) and ran into this man, Mike. It was snowing this morning, so the sunrise was lackluster and it was much more pleasant to sit next to the wood burning stove with my warm cup of coffee and talk with him.
Mike is trained as a metal worker. He moved to Nederland 15 years ago and worked in the fabrication of metal parts for various companies, including NASA. Some of the parts he created are now on Mars with the Mars rover program. After the explosion of the space shuttle Colombia in 2003, NASA canceled all the contracts with the smaller fabrication companies and Mike lost the majority of his work. Since then, he has been working as a handyman with the hopes that he can get back into fabrication.
