In Brooks Jensen's latest LensWork podcast, Searching versus Finding, he talks about why a photographer would want to go to a National Park to photograph. Here's my brief response/defense:
Why go to a National Park (let's be cliche and use Yosemite as the example that is almost always used in arguments such as this) to make photographs when that place has been so extensively photographed? Why bother make a photograph of Half Dome, or El Capitan, when Ansel Adams has already made perhaps THE Photograph of all photographs of those features?
Even though one may go to Yosemite, and make, compositionally, a nearly identical photograph to Ansel (who, by the way, made nearly compositionally identical photographs to Carleton Watkins), that person is still bringing THEIR own experiences, THEIR own emotions, THEIR own memories to that photograph. It may not be that they think they can "one-up" those who came before, though by chance that might happen—for example if a freak storm passes through, and raises the drama to 11—but it may be that they want to make a photograph that is THEIRS. Their own piece of work, something that they poured their own emotions and experiences and feelings into. Whether this is enough to pass muster for acceptance into a gallery is another debate.
I would love to hang an original Ansel Adams print on my wall. The likelihood of that ever happening is almost nill—I don't know that I'll ever be able to afford such a thing. But I can go to Yosemite, and bring my kids and my wife, we can have our own experiences, create our own memories, and those things will be wrapped up into the photographs I make there. And that's more than will ever be in an Adams print on the wall.
History of Photography, Part 1—The Camera Obscura
The History of Photography has long been one of my favorite subjects. When I was registering for college and needed to declare a major my choice was between some facet of history or photography. I didn’t know then that by the time I graduated I would have taken two semesters of Art History and two semesters of the History of Photography. So I got the best of both worlds in the end.
I thought it would be fun to create a series of posts covering various periods significant in the History of Photography, and to start off, I’ll be looking at how this box thing we call a camera came to be.
The concept of a camera, or that of what would eventually become known as a camera obscura, was first documented in the 5th Century, BC in China by a guy named Mo Ti. He observed that if you stood in a darkened room and put a pinhole in one wall, an image of the objects outside the room would be projected upside-down and backwards on the opposite wall. Aristotle, a few hundred years later, recorded his wondering why it is that when the sun passes “through…wickerwork, it does not produce a figure rectangular in shape but circular?...Why is it that an eclipse of the sun, if one looks at it through a sieve or through leaves, such as a plane-tree or other broadleaved tree, or if one joins the fingers of one hand over the fingers of the other, the rays are crescent-shaped where they reach the earth? Is it for the same reason as that when light shines through a rectangular peep-hole, it appears circular in the form of a cone?”
The first extensive studies and descriptions of the camera obscura phenomenon were made by the Arab physicist Al Hazen in the 11th century. Among his experiments was his discovery that by using a smaller pinhole, image sharpness would increase.
Al Hazen’s experiments first influenced English philosopher and Franciscan friar Roger Bacon. Bacon explained that a solar eclipse could be safely studied using a camera obscura to then observe the shape projected by the rays of light passing through the aperture.
Leonardo Da Vinci was also familiar with and influenced by the Latin translation of Al Hazen’s work. In 1502, Da Vinci recorded:
“If the facade of a building, or a place, or a landscape is illuminated by the sun and a small hole is drilled in the wall of a room in a building facing this, which is not directly lighted by the sun, then all objects illuminated by the sun will send their images through this aperture and will appear, upside down, on the wall facing the hole. You will catch these pictures on a piece of white paper, which placed vertically in the room not far from that opening, and you will see all the above-mentioned objects on this paper in their natural shapes or colors, but they will appear smaller and upside down, on account of crossing of the rays at that aperture. If these pictures originate from a place which is illuminated by the sun, they will appear colored on the paper exactly as they are. The paper should be very thin and must be viewed from the back.”
Over the course of his life, Da Vinci drew around 270 diagrams of the camera obscura, and he experimented with various shapes and sizes of apertures.
Although the principles of the camera obscura had been known since the 5th century B.C., it wasn’t until 1604 that this device finally got a name, in a book Ad Vitellionem Paralipmena written by German mathematician Johannes Kepler. Kepler discovered how the camera obscura works by threading a string connected to the edges of a book though an aperture cut into a table. This recreated the shape of the book on the opposite side of the aperture. With the aid of the camera obscura he studied the sun, and in 1607, he discovered sunspot, which he mistook for Mercury transiting the sun. Kepler continued experimenting with the camera obscura, making it portable in the form of a tent which he used to draw landscapes.
The camera obscura had been used as a drawing aid since the Renaissance, and it is widely speculated, and even perhaps hotly disputed whether and to what extend the Dutch Masters like Jan Van Eyck and Johannes Vermeer utilized the camera obscura to aid their paintings. The argument for their extensive use of the camera obscura was largely pushed forward by David Hockney and Charles Falco, and is known as the Hockney-Falco Thesis. In 1999, while looking at portraits by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, he became convinced from their accuracy that Ingres must have used a camera lucida, or something similar. Hockney then looked for evidence of the use of optical drawing aids in other paintings, and in 2001, he and Falco published their analysis in their book Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the Lost Techniques of the Old Masters.
Jan van Eyck, The Arnolfini Portrait
Johannes Vermeer, Girl with the Red Hat
The camera obscura would go see many improvements over time by using improved optics, and getting more and more miniaturized. In 1805, William Hyde Wollaston invented the camera lucida, a contraption that would be clamped to a table. It had a long upright arm that held a half-silvered mirror that could be set at an angle. The half-silvered mirror let the user see their subject, but they could also see through the mirror to a sheet of paper on the table. The user could then trace their subject below.
All of these developments only cover one side of the equation of recording an image of nature “automatically.” In the next post I’ll take a look at the experiments done in the search for fixing light.
Goals for 2020
Well, here we are, over a week into the new year and new decade, and over the past few weeks I’ve been thinking and pondering over what goals I would like to set and achieve in 2020. In the interest of adding some sort of accountability to them, I thought I’d post them here. At least the ones that are relevant to my photographic life. So without further ado, here they are:
Make 8 new woven pieces.
Make 4 new collages
Print more often (the weaves do not count toward this)
Take a photograph every day. I don’t intend to share each of these every day. I’ll try to share at least one a week, but this is just a personal exercise.
Post to this blog at least twice a month.
I have another big goal for 2020 that is very much about photography, but separate from this website. Last year, late summer and fall, I made a few family portraits of my in-laws family and my own, and, in contrast to the “college years Andy”, I really enjoyed it. For years, almost two decades, in fact, I never really liked photographing people, and dealing with something that is independent and autonomous. The landscape didn’t need to be posed. I only needed to find the right point in space and click the shutter. But Tommy changed all that. And after doing these few portraits of my families, I’ve decided to take the plunge. So this year in 2020, I’m officially going to start doing portrait photography. My business will be (is) named 1 of 1 Photography, and I’m super excited to enter a new phase of life!
Favorite Photographs of 2019
As 2019 draws to a close, I’ve been thinking back on the work I’ve made through the year. We’ve done a fair bit of traveling, with a trip to Twin Falls, and Zion Nation Park. My project with Tommy keeps rolling, though it has slowed some since winter hit. I’d hoped to work on a few other projects, including the 10,000 Steps work, but I think I’m going to have to wait until next spring/summer to do anything. In all it’s been a pretty good year.
Favorite Music of 2019
2019 has been a good year for music. The Avett Brothers released their 10th studio album, and Amy Palmer released one of the most raw albums I’ve ever heard. And with a few earlier posts about music in mind, I thought it only fitting I do a post of some of my favorite songs of 2019.
Death in Midsummer, Deerhunter
The first on the list is the song Death in Midsummer by Deerhunter. The song’s cheery melody made by a harpsichord, piano, and guitar, belie the mortality-confronting lyrics. If you want to hear a new take on a 60’s psychadelic sound, give them a listen.
The Ride, Amanda Palmer
I wrote about the second song on the list back in February, so check that post out for my thoughts on The Ride by Amanda Palmer. Make sure you’ve got some tissue handy before you press play.
High Steppin’, The Avett Brothers
The latest album from The Avett Brothers, released in October, is their most political yet. They take on sexism, racism, and gun violence. In their announcement of the album on Instagram, Seth Avett says “We didn’t make a record that was meant to comment on the sociopolitical landscape that we live in. We did, however, make an album that is obviously informed by what is happening now on a grander scale all around us…because we are a part of it and it is a part of us.”
Closer Than Together isn’t my favorite record the Avetts have made—it’s a pretty heavy album. But I do feel it’s exactly the album that they needed to make this year.
High Steppin’ is one of the best songs I’ve ever known to give me a boost. Towards the end, they sing “The best beggars are choosers. The best winners are losers. The best lovers ain’t ever been loved. First place ain’t easy. The hardest part is believing. The very last word is love.” It’s a good “pick-me-up” in the midst of such a sobering album.
Bleeding White, The Avett Brothers
Closer Than Together opens with this rockin’ song that I would love to see live one day.
Get Yourself Together, The Black Keys
The Black Keys have a new album out, and it doesn’t disappoint.
Wade in the Water, John Butler Trio
These last 5 songs in the list weren’t released in 2019, but they’re songs and/or artists I’ve either discovered this year, or still get played quite frequently.
The first of these, is Wade in the Water by John Butler Trio. I’d never heard of this group until my brother introduced me to them while we were on a family fishing trip.
Ever since the soundtrack to Into the Wild came out in 2007, the song Hard Sun has been my personal anthem. I couldn’t listen to the album without wanting to just fill my backpack and just disappear into the woods. It took 5 or 6 years before that desire faded, though Hard Sun still remained my anthem. Until I heard Wade in the Water. Maybe it was the fact that my brother said it would make for a good fly fishing film intro, and then we started riffing on the idea. Maybe it was the fact that I was with my favorite people in my most favorite place on earth doing one of my most favorite things. Maybe it’s the fact that the song is about finding one’s self in the river and mountains. Really, it’s all of the above. Give it a listen.
We All Die Young, The Decemberists
Just like Deerhunter’s Death in Midsummer’s cheery tune belies the heavy, mortality-facing lyrics, so does We All Die Young by The Decemberists. I mean, the chorus has a bunch of children singing along to “We all die young.”
The Joke, Brandi Carlile
Holy dang, Brandi Carlile always knocks my socks off! There’s a part in The Story that still gives me goosebumps and chills every single time I hear it. The Joke has the same affect, and like The Avett Brothers’ High Steppin’, it’s a powerful song that gives me hope and strength.
When I Get to Heaven, John Prine
I love John Prine’s voice, both pre- and post-cancer. Maybe more so post-cancer. I think the rawness of it just adds to the words being sung.
Sugartooth, Brandi Carlile
Sugartooth is another one of those antithetical songs, with an upbeat melody, but a sad tale behind it, of a childhood friend of Brandi’s brother who took his life after becoming addicted to drugs. But perhaps the tune behind the lyrics fit a little better than the others on the list.
A lot of the music that has come out during 2019, and 2018 has been pretty heavy. And I think it needs to be. Art is there to help us understand, and to confront us with challenging topics, and with all that we are facing locally, nationally, and globally, I think we need hard art. I think we need songs and paintings and photographs and sculpture and poetry and stories by those blessed with those gifts to help us all cope and confront our fears and worries and anger and whatever else we may be struggling with. Great art can (should?) heighten our joys, and happiness, or turn negative feelings to positive ones. Amanda Palmer’s The Ride is a good reminder that we’re all going through tough things, or have gone through tough things. We’re not alone. We don’t have to struggle alone in silence. After all, “Isn’t it nice when we all can cry at the same time?”
Zion National Park
I’ve been a Utah resident for 11 years now (14 total, counting the 3 years I lived in Orem and Salt Lake City from 2005-2008), and in all that time, I’d never gone to Zion National Park. So when we started thinking of what to do for Gina’s fall break, we decided that was a good place to go.
On our way down, we toured the Kolob Canyon Scenic Drive in the northwest arm of the park so we could all stretch our legs. I got my first taste of the beauty, and grandeur of the park when we drove around a bend in the road and saw Tucupit Point towering in the distance. To say it was breathtaking would be…well, accurate, I suppose. Having been to Moab and Canyonlands and through San Rafael Swell, I’d seen sandstone formations before, but nothing like Tucupit Point. It wasn’t just the red of the rock that was so astounding, but the height, and the way it rose straight up from the surrounding topography. We hiked the Timber Creek Overlook Trail so we could all stretch our legs after the long drive. Tommy was real excited to be out of the car, and walked the entire distance.
The next day was our full day in the park. We got up early and drove to the visitor’s center and spent the day riding the shuttle, walking a few trails and driving through the east part of the park to let Tommy nap.
We started out by making a short visit at Big Bend Viewpoint, where I got to see the newly fledged California Condor flying overhead. I made a few photographs that I’m a little unsatisfied with while Gina watched Tommy throw rocks into the Virgin River. After that, we hopped on the shuttle again and rode to the last stop, and walked along the Riverside Walk. Tommy drove his brand new Duke Caboom Hot Wheels car on the rock walls lining the path. We ate lunch, and then headed back, following Tommy back down the trail.
Virgin River, Zion National Park 2019
It was getting to be time for Tommy to nap, so we rode the shuttle back to the Visitor’s Center and went for a drive to the East side of the park through the Zion-Mount Carmel Tunnel.
White Cliffs, Zion National Park 2019
White Cliffs, Zion National Park 2019
We finished the day at one of the most iconic/photographed viewpoints in the park. I just had to indulge and photograph there.
Virgin River, The Watchman, Zion National Park 2019
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as overwhelmed visually by a place as I did in Zion. The place is stunning, to say the least.
Tommy
Despite my lack of posts here over the last few months, there hasn’t been a lack of photographs being made. Most of the work I’ve done has been in continuation of the Through Tommy’s Eyes project. Tommy’s really been giving us a run for our money lately, so it’s been harder to sneak away to photograph. We’ve tried to get out in the hills as much as possible, and I’ve photographed our little dude playing and tossing rocks every chance I’ve got. I’ve just loved watching him grow and learn, and even if nothing grand comes out of this project, I know I’ve got some great photographs documenting his childhood.
Serendipity Strikes
Wow. I didn’t mean to let over two months elapse without posting here.
Last weekend we went up to Island Park, and while we were there, we went out to Big Springs to let Tommy see and feed the fish, and so I could photograph. I made a few photographs that are pretty much exactly the same as photographs I’d made there before, but I just can’t resist making them over and over. But then serendipity struck. I’ll spare the details, but long story short, I ended up underexposing by over 2 stops, resulting in this image (with a few edits in Lightroom):
About a year ago I made a similar mistake at Hyrum Reservoir, though not quite as bad:
After that first serendipitous “mistake,” I remember wanting to work more in that vein, but never did. I hope this one from Big Springs gives me a boost to remember to be more purposeful in this style.
Twin Falls, Day 2
I’ve been to all of these places before and photographed them all, but in many ways, though these places are familiar, it feels like I’m coming to these places for the first time (sorry if you’ve now got Foreigner stuck in your head). It’s been good to reacquaint myself with a landscape I fell in love with years ago.
I started the day by heading out to Thousand Springs, and got there before the sun rose and the moon set.
Moonset Over Thousand Springs, Idaho 2019
Thousand Springs, Idaho 2019
On my way back to town I spotted a couple Magpies building a nest in a tree. Magpies aren’t my favorite bird, but it was interesting to watch them build a new nest.
Magpie Nest Under Construction
We spent some time at Niagara Springs where Tommy ran and jumped off all those rocks (pictures of that are coming soon). I made some photographs I quite like.
Picnic Area and Firepit, Niagara Springs State Park, Idaho 2019
Niagara Springs State Park, Idaho 2019
We ended up going to a few other parks with playgrounds throughout the day so Tommy could play. I ended up photographing in parks more than I did at the places that drew me to this part of Idaho. I’m not complaining, mind you. I learned things about my creative process by visiting a variety of different places where the creative objectives are different.
Cascade Park, Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
Thomsen Park, Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
We finished out the day with a quick visit to Twin Falls Hydroelectric Project. This now singular waterfall and its dammed twin comprise the two waterfalls for which the city of Twin Falls gets its name.
Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
Twin Falls, Day 1
Sometimes I just need to get away from my normal photographic haunts as a bit of a palette cleanser, so we planned a tip out to Twin Falls, Idaho for me to do just that. We left Logan yesterday a little after noon, and after checking in to our Air B & B, we found a park so Tommy could run around after being in the car for almost three hours. I took advantage of the opportunity to gather some images for my parks project.
City Park, Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
City Park, Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
City Park, Twin Falls, Idaho 2019
After dinner, we headed out to Shoshone Falls, and they sure didn’t disappoint.
Shoshone Falls, Idaho 2019
I played around with a few different variations of this image before I made this one, and it’s my most favorite image from the trip and that I’ve made in a long time.
Tommy got super cranky, so we left earlier than I thought and hoped we would, but I couldn’t stay away from Perrine Falls, so I dropped Gina and Tommy off at the Air B & B, and headed over.
Perrine Falls, Idaho 2019
After I made a few images, I headed the rest of the way to the bottom of the canyon to Centennial Waterfront Park, and came back with some images I’m quite pleased with.
Submerged Dock, Snake River, Centennial Waterfront Park, Idaho 2019
Fisherman at Dusk, Centennial Waterfront Park, Idaho 2019
Don’t Litter, Snake River, Centennial Waterfront Park, Idaho 2019
Some Thoughts on Parks
Something I've always known while working on my parks project is that I'd eventually need to include photographs of the playgrounds that exist in these parks. I've never done anything about it since I've been super self-conscious of the appearance of a strange, lone man in the park with a camera on a tripod photographing a playground full of kids running around. Even when using my large format gear (maybe especially, due to the size of the camera and laboriousness of using it) I still felt like people would think I was a creep and call the cops, and that was when I wasn't even near playground equipment. I think I'll still feel like that to a small degree even now that I'm a father and my kid will be one of the ones playing.
Anyway, this has got me thinking about these playgrounds (what I grew up calling "Jungle Gyms") and how they've changed over the years since I was a child, and beyond even that time. Frederick Law Olmsted, when designing New York's Central Park, included plans for a place for children to play, an area he called the "Kinderberg" or "Children's Mountain." Parks and playgrounds grew more prolific in the late 1800's to early 1900's, and where a park couldn't be created, schoolyards were opened up for year-round use, and vacant lots were temporarily re-purposed for children's recreational use. This explosion of public parks and playgrounds in the late 1800's and early 1900's was a fueled by the large influx of immigrants in that same time period. But the first playgrounds weren't as we now know playgrounds. There was playground equipment, but the playground wasn't an area for "unstructured" or "free-form play." Often there was a leader who led the children (most of the texts I've read so far mainly mentions only boys) in marches, singing, saluting the flag, drills, and "occupation work" (think "arts and crafts").
I now think that this project has just become related and perhaps intertwined with the photographs I've been making of Thomas as he explores and learns and plays out in nature. Not that the two projects need to merge somehow. I just bring the relation up because I'm now seeing some patterns emerge in my work, and it may lead me down new paths for at least these two projects.
After writing all this, I'm now pretty anxious to get out and photograph some parks again!
It's Just a Ride
Let me introduce this post by saying: find some place to be alone for 10 minutes. 10 minutes 14 seconds to be exact. This song, The Ride by Amanda Palmer is bound to bring some pretty powerful emotions to the surface. So go find a corner, maybe bring a box of tissues, and hit play: (a quick word of warning: She drops the F-bomb at 6:20, so hit mute for a second if you're averse to such language)
This song was featured on NPR's All Songs Considered podcast on February 12. When I heard it that day, I had the thought "That was a good song, and I'm glad I heard it and had that experience, but it's not a song I need in my library, but I'm glad I heard it." But the song just wouldn’t leave me alone. It's become an ear worm in the last 10 days, but in such a good way, and I had to write something about it.
The song is all about fear, and the ups and downs in life we all experience using a roller coaster ride as a metaphor to express the idea. The music perfectly reflects this in a waltz with an ascending and descending scale. Before she wrote the song, Amanda asked her fans on her Patreon website to tell her something they were afraid of in 50 words or less. They responded with 1,183 comments. On the list are things like the fear of dying, parents dying, inability to have children, losing a child, breaking up, finding new love. She wrote the song in 36 hours after reading those comments (which itself took her 3 hours) posted in response to her request. She told the NPR hosts in an interview about the experience:
“There was a guy who commented ‘I’m not afraid of anything anymore really.’ I just remember what Bill Hicks said, and I knew exactly what this guy was talking about, I’m a huge Bill Hicks fan, I’ve referenced him in my songs, he’s a hero to me. And I knew he was talking about this monologue that Bill Hicks ended one of his shows with about how life is like a ride at an amusement park, and it has thrills and chills and you go up and down and around and around and it’s very brightly colored and then there are people who remember it’s a ride and they come back and they tell you don’t be afraid of anything ever. It’s just a ride. And I found myself thinking, like, ‘oh am I allowed to steal that for a song? I can write anything I want, I can steal that.’”
What she came up with is something so mind-blowingly powerful. And ultimately, I feel, so full of hope and comfort. One of my favorite lines, which consistently puts a lump in my throat, goes "I wish you could think of me sitting and singing beside you." I just love how badly she wants to sit next to these fans of hers that told her so many heartbreaking stories and put her arm around them to comfort them. Another favorite line goes "Isn't it nice when we're all afraid at the same time?" and later a variation of the same: "Isn't it nice when we all can cry at the same time?" We've all gone through tough times in our lives, so we should all be able to sympathize and empathize with each other, and be afraid or cry with each other.
So if you're struggling, remember "it's just a ride." And I join Amanda in her wish that you "could think of me sitting and singing [or] riding beside you."
Music and Me
I love music.
I know I’m not unique in this aspect, so why bring it up? Why devote a post on my photography blog about my love of music?
There was a recent period in my life when I wasn’t the voracious music listener I was before and after. The only time I listened to music in any degree was while I was driving. But last year I gradually paying more attention to my iTunes library, and one of my resolutions for 2019 is to really get back into music.
I’m going to make perhaps a long-winded correlation, but hear me out: In the past 12 to maybe 18 months I’ve felt a resurgence in my confidence as a photographer (this whole topic of confidence deserves its own blog post, which I may or may not write), and I feel like my return to searching for new music and listening more often has been a big contributor to that change I’ve seen in my creatively, especially over the last month and a half. It was in early- to mid-2014 that I stopped searching out new music and listening so much, and it was around that same time that I felt a decline in my confidence level.
Music has always been one of my favorite things. I love the memories that certain songs can bring to the surface; I love the excitement of hearing an old favorite I may have neglected or ignored for a long time; I love the thrill of hearing a brand new song that stirs up emotion in whatever way, be it happiness, or sadness, or rowdy, or hopeful.
And while I’m on this topic of music, and its impact on my creativity, music has been a part of my photography. I’ve often thought of what a soundtrack for projects or individual photographs would sound like: what style of music would it be? would it be a score? who would compose it? what artists and songs would be on it? During the years of 2015-2017 and part of 2018, whenever I went out photographing I played music in the car that had an impact on me when I was in college or during my time in grad school. Artists like Interpol, Death Cab for Cutie, Wilco, The New Pornographers, and Elliott Smith. My thinking was that that music inspired me and helped channel my creativity back then, so it should inspire me now. I felt my work was strong then, so listening to that same music should help me make strong work now. Right? I even made a playlist with all of those old favorite songs and albums.
Looking back on that period, I feel like I was making work that was trying to by like the work I was making during college. I feel like I was trying to make that old music inform my present-day creativity. In mid-2018 I realized this, and thought “it’s 2018. I’m not in my early or late twenties. I need to be making work that is more authentic to my 2018 self. Why not update my music?” And once I did that, once I started playing the music that was inspiring me currently, today, I think that was when my confidence began to really return. I had, without stating specifically, decided to live in the present and look to the future as an artist, and turn to those things that are currently inspiring, informing, and influencing me. I’m not trying to make the music I listen to be responsible for my success or failures, or ups or downs as an artist. I just mention all this to illustrate the music’s power to influence me.
The lesson I’ve learned (and maybe it’s still sinking in) is that I’m not the same person I was when I was in college. I’m not the same artist I was then, or in 2008. I’m not the same artist I was a month ago, nor am I, I think it would be safe to say, even the same artist I was yesterday. We’re all progressing—or, god forbid, digressing—and we need to embrace that progression, grow with it, and learn from it. It might do us good to take a minute periodically and identify (if it’s not obvious) what is causing that growth.
10,000 Steps
In my last blog post I wrote about some of the goals I have for 2019, and that I wanted to begin a project I’ve been thinking about for 10 years. That project being about walking and hiking. A tentative title for it has been 10,000 Steps. And when I say I plan on beginning the project, I mean I’m going to undertake the project more earnestly. Because the truth is, over the years I have made the occasional image while hiking in the mountains surrounding Cache Valley with the intention of developing the idea. In fact, I’ve blogged about it before, twice in 2013, and again in August of last year.
This project, I feel, has so much potential, and there are so many directions I can take it. Or that it can take me, which will probably be more accurate, both creatively and geographically.
The following image, a 360° panorama, is the first I deliberately made nearly 6 years ago, and it more closely resembles what I then imagined the images to be. Now, in 2019, I’m not so sure of the format of the images.
I like that you can see the trail leading both to the North and to the South in the same image, and this is one direction the project could go. We’ll see. I just need winter to come to an end so I can start making images. And since it’s mid-February, I’ve got a long wait ahead of me…
Goals for 2019
Here it is mid-February, and I’m just now thinking of and setting goals for myself as an artist for 2019. Actually, I’d set a few of these in early January, so this is me finally recording them and making my declaration of what I wish to do and achieve this year:
Figure out how to display my woven pieces. This has always been at the back of my mind over the course of my working on this project; it’s now time to bring it to the front of my mind more consistently.
Complete the woven body of work, or, at least by the end of the year, have 15-20 pieces that I can declare being Finished
Begin a project I’ve had bouncing around my head for 10 years now, dealing with walking. The concept revolves around 10,000 steps, or the recommended daily amount of steps to take in order to maintain good health. It also deals (maybe even more so than the first point) with walking in the mountains, or, hiking, and why hiking is such an important passion.
Continue my Through Tommy’s Eyes project. This includes coming up with a better title. Though I suppose that might come organically as the project matures. There may also be different phases to this project.
Revive my Parks project. I still feel like this project, which began 14 years ago as my BFA project, has so much more life in it, and there are new things I wish to articulate within the bounds of the project.
Read, read, read.
And lastly, generally photograph like mad! Part of that comes from a desire to revive this blog and post as frequently as I did when it first began so many years ago.
In the interest of full disclosure, there are a few more goals that I won’t list here, mainly due to them being more personal in nature. But these are the big ones I’m working towards in 2019.
What goals have you set for yourself to improve as an artist in 2019?
Printer Issues
A few weeks ago I ran a few prints off my Epson P800 that is now a little over two years old, and saw that it left the dreaded “pizza wheel” marks in the surface of the print that seems to plague many Epson printers. I then spent all my free time reading forums and watching YouTube videos on how to fix the issue, and went back and forth with Epson tech support via email, and then finally spent over an hour on the phone with them. In the end, Epson had nothing helpful to offer, other than contact info for a local service center, who likewise said nothing helpful except to bring it in for them to run diagnostics, and a repair estimate of $90-$900.
What are Epson pizza wheel marks?
These “pizza wheel” marks are made by some rollers about 10mm in diameter, and are there to keep the print flat in the printer, and these rollers look like a little serrated pizza cutter. For the unfortunate owners who get inflicted with this particular issue seemingly at random, their prints get little pin pricks along the length of the print, as seen below in my test print:
A video I watched suggested dousing the rollers and the springs that hold them in place in a print head cleaning solution and running a thick card under them back and forth a dozen times. This is supposed to break up any dried over sprayed ink that might have been deposited in the springs, thus returning the spring and flexibility to the springs. But that didn’t work, and it seemed like the most promising solution. Other videos were far less helpful. They showed the owners bashing the printer with sledgehammers, or blasting them with shotguns.
One of the people in a forum post I’d read said they completely removed the springs and rollers altogether, and that is what I ended up doing. And if I only printed on plastic based media, such as Epson’s Premium Luster paper, or Pictorico’s transparency media, I think that would have been a decent work around. But I don’t only print on plastic based media. I print quite a bit on baryta fiber based paper, and without those rollers to keep the paper flat in the printer, the ink load is such that the paper swells and rises into the print head, and instead of the rollers making marks, it’s the head that scratches the print. Don’t ask how I know this...
It didn’t take long for me to see that the rollers and springs were necessary for my process. But after the failure of the first solution, I thought maybe a deeper cleaning of the springs and rollers might help. They were already out of the printer, so I put them in an ultrasonic cleaner with first, a 10% solution 70% IPA and water, and then a 5% solution of Windex and water, rinsing the parts off in between cleanings. I went with the cleaning with Windex, because the alcohol didn’t quite do the trick. People use Windex to unclog severely clogged printheads, as the ammonia breaks up the dried ink, so I figured that might help finish off what the IPA left behind, and sure enough, after a cycle the parts came out sparkling clean.
Parts before cleaning. Note the springs on the right, and how pink they are.
Parts after cleaning. There’s still some pink staining, but this is pretty deep discoloration, and no longer superficial residue affecting the mechanical workings of these parts.
Two reinstalled rollers, with seven slots still empty. This step requires a LOT of patience.
Reinstalling the rollers is quite the pain. The parts are tiny, and you have only a few inches of room in which to work. I installed three of the rollers, and ran a test print, and prayed. I think I heard the Hallelujah Chorus being sung as the print exited the printer, free of those cursed marks! I’ve now run a few more prints off after installing a few more of the rollers, and they continue to come out clean and undamaged.
This procedure isn’t for the faint of heart, and it really helps to have some needle point tweezers. Head lamps and bright flashlights are also quite useful in illuminating the inside of the printer.
I’ve never posted any how-to’s here. At least none that I can remember, and I’m too lazy to dig through the archives to see if I have. Anyway...I felt I’d share my experience here in case anyone who comes across this post that is suffering from this issue needs some hope that a huge bill from a repair shop isn’t their only option. Nor do they need to resort to destroying the printer in a showy fashion.
I Climbed These Trees, Part IV
Sometimes some of those memories seem more dream than a remembered reality. But I know they happened because I have at least three cohorts that share the same memory, and the occasional journal entry. It is now one of my favorite things to sit and reminisce with all my siblings about all of our experiences in that backyard.
Surely it Wasn’t a Dream?
Wonderment and Fear
Remains II
Perfect for Lounging
New Growth
Our Favorite Branch
Wandering through the backyard of my childhood during the Thanksgiving holiday brought to mind Shel Silverstein’s book, The Giving Tree, and how the tree invited the boy to climb it on each subsequent visit the boy made as he grew older. But each time the boy declined because he was too big, or too busy, or too old. Finally, all that remains of the tree is a stump, after having given its wood to the boy to build a boat.
The final sentence of the book, as the boy, now an old man, sits on the stump, keeps ringing in my ear: “And the tree was happy.”
Maybe I’ll give in to my inner child a bit more and climb those old branches. It might just make the tree happy.
I Climbed These Trees, Part III
The trees I used to climb are aging. As I mentioned in a previous blog post, one willow is dead. The other is not what it once was. The harsh Idaho winds and winters have taken their toll. Not to mention the toll that we took, though we never drove nails in that one. Some of my favorite branches have succumbed to the elements, and are no longer there, making my mind and faded memory attempt to fill in the gaps that exist when I look up.
Scar
Encompassed by the Branches
No Ordinary Apple Tree
I Climbed These Trees, Part II
There was one branch I regarded as the “Holy Grail.” I never was brave enough to venture up to that branch, but at least one of my brothers was: Jesse. I was always a little jealous of him for being braver than I.
The Highest We Dared
Goodbye
Now Our Children Play Here
Us four older siblings (I’m the oldest of eight) are now in our thirties. I myself am nearing 40. We haven’t played back there as children play for many years, but we, along with the younger four siblings, still gather back there in the summer, and it is now our children that play there. Many of them are still too little to be climbing trees, but in a few years they’ll be purposing those old willows and apple trees to fit their own wild imaginations.
I Climbed These Trees
We went to my parents for Thanksgiving in Idaho Falls this year. During the drive up, my thoughts were occupied by memories of the countless hours spent in the backyard while growing up. Here, my younger brothers and I re-enacted movies, from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to Jurassic Park. We dug holes, most, or maybe all, of which we filled with water to play in the mud. We had hundreds of campfires. We did our schoolwork in the treehouse we built out of old pallets and scrap lumber we scrounged from construction sites. And we climbed every tree. We spent just as much time scrambling through their limbs as we spent on the ground. Those trees weren’t just trees to us. They were houses, office buildings, spaceships—anything our imaginations required them to be.
Over the course of our stay, I spent some time photographing those trees, one of which has died. Most likely from all the nails we drove into it building our tree house. These are just a few of the photographs I made.
The Journey Begins Here
I Dare You To Jump
Remains