2020: 23 (A Pause)

So many other things need to be heard that supersede anything I might add right now.
Work for change.
Support those who are fighting for their rights and their lives.

2020: 22 (Rejection)

Over the past few months, I’ve spent the majority of my time shooting film. I have described the appeal in other blog posts, but I have come to deeply appreciate the imperfections that film shooting accentuates. My journey through film has included a number of “hacks” that entail running 35mm film through medium format cameras, or shooting with an array of cheap, plastic cameras. Developing black and white film in my kitchen sink has allowed me a closed loop on my image production, and it has liberated me from the constraints of the “perfect” image.

Digital cameras have created so many opportunities for capturing images that in the past would have been impossible (or extremely challenging) to achieve with film. However, with all of the technological advances has come a plethora of similarity. Perfectly exposed, perfectly stopped action, perfect, perfect, perfect. Ultra fast shutter speeds and rapid frame-per-second rates have exacerbated the “spray and pray” approach to digital shooting. With all of this comes boring sameness. Social media has already made each image almost instantly disposable, and a scan through my Instagram feed reinforces the easy dismissal of what might even be an outstanding individual photograph. It all just gets lost in the deluge.

Maybe it’s the acceptance of living in a “new reality” (how I hate that term) that has pushed me further away from conventional thinking, or maybe I’ve watched too many YouTube videos of “influencers’ testing out lenses and cameras, or even different film stocks. It all merges into white noise of sameness, mediocrity, a general lack of originality. I have been embracing the crudeness of film shooting, the limits of sharpness, the beauty of film grain, the roughness of film sprocket holes, blasted out highlights and undetailed shadows. Image quality that reflects the world as it is right now. Turmoil and upheaval and unfairness, and bigotry, and violence, and selfishness… and death. Pain washes over all of us in time, as the maestro Robert Frank once said… fitting that it has crept into my image making. But this is not all doom and gloom thinking and creating, as I find the entire process to be cathartic, and ultimately, life affirming. I realize that I have my own way of seeing the world, and my own way of showing the world. And yes, sometimes that’s a dark vision, but sometimes there is a light in the darkness, and sometimes it just feels good to exorcise some ghosts that rattle in the depths of my mind.

I often quote Henri Cartier-Bresson’s statement that “sharpness is a bourgeois concept.” I am empowered to reject the expectation of clarity, sharpness, cleanliness and perfection. I have published a number of zines under the masthead “Flaunt The Imperfections” and it is in this spirit that my most recent work has evolved. Real life isn’t perfect… why should my art be any different?

2020: 21 (Nine Postcards)

This series of photographs is the result of my reaction to the stay at home orders due to the coronavirus pandemic. I found myself experiencing a wide range of reactions to the situation. in order to help ease my mind, I started taking sunrise walks in my neighborhood here in Albuquerque, New Mexico. i would put in my earbuds and listen to a wonderful album i had stumbled upon, Hiroshi Yoshimura’s “Music For Nine Postcards.” The music is very much in the ambient style and dates from 1982. I found that the music had a calming effect on me, and it also helped me to relax my eyes as I surveyed the morning light, the flora just coming to life, the shadows cast and the brightness of the rising sun. The final set of images in the series are the result of these morning walks. I hope you can find the album on the streaming platform of your choice, and I would also suggest searching on youtube, as someone has posted the entire album there as well. I wish you good health and a still mind as we navigate this new reality.

2020: 20 (The Future Is Unpredictable)

I have been going pretty deep into an experimental stage with my photography as of late. Maybe it’s the fucked up reality we are living through, but I have felt a creative liberation of sorts. Whether it’s taping a pinhole lens onto my dSLR, or shooting with plastic cameras, it has helped me find a release from the pendulum swings between boredom and anxiety.

Recently I shot with a Holga camera, even choosing to run a roll of 35mm film through it, to further push myself away from predictability. This week I took it one step further, digging out an old Diana clone (a Windsor, precisely) which is an even cruder, plastic camera that takes 120 film. The Diana and its clones have an almost mythical reputation among film photographers, and as you can see from the contact sheet above, it lives up to its reputation.

Maybe I’ve been on a lucky streak lately, or maybe I’ve finally learned from numerous past mistakes, but the results I’ve been getting with these cameras have been very satisfying. I think I have finally figured out the correct combination of film speed, focus setting, and of course, using copious amounts of black gaffer tape to control light leaks. What I enjoy most about shooting with these cameras is the unpredictability of it all. I honestly don’t know when the roll begins and ends, since I tape over the film counter window, so I arbitrarily lose a shot or two at the start and end of each roll. Framing and composition is a guessing game, as is exposure. But that is where the magic truly lies. Pulling a roll of just-developed film from the processing tank is always a wonderful moment of surprise. As long as there is some kind of image appearing, I consider the whole exercise a success.

Perhaps the unpredictability of shooting film in this manner is the perfect metaphor for our current times, and I am grateful for the possibility of some magical moments to occur.

2020: 19 (Try To Maintain Focus)

The long pause continues. Things can crest and dissipate, as the wind blows, as the sun rises and sets. Feelings sway, reactions sharpen, or get dulled to a nub. Facing the unknown, an unknowable, with plenty of time to reflect. Could have, would have, should have. I will, someday. I might, someday. I definitely will not, ever again.

I continue to work, I continue to sleep, to eat, to drink. To hold, to love. To cry, to get anxious, angry, bored, excited. I have trouble concentrating, especially when I’m reading. I listen: to podcasts, to music, to the birds, to the wind, to the neighborhood dogs that bark too much. Sometimes I have energy to spare, often times I am tired. Sometimes I create, sometime I spiral, aimlessly. Sometimes I shoot, sometimes I imagine pictures in my head. Sometimes I look, and most of the time, I see.

How are you holding up?

2020: 18 (Maybe Love Will Save Us)

All this time in lockdown has made me itch for a long road trip, to where…it doesn’t matter. Open highway, my camera sitting in the passenger seat, and a set of great songs on the stereo. The romance of the endless drive, with time to think, to see, to sing out loud…to feel free; these are part of our American birthright. Unfortunately, these thoughts are just dreams right now, but I can take a momentary escape, via the new video by Beloved.

The song is titled “Burning Van (Maybe Love Will Save Us) and it perfectly encapsulates the feeling of driving down some New Mexico back road, the windows rolled down, the hot summer air swirling through your hair, the stereo cranked up, the sun shining a path to the horizon. David Garcia and his wife Nikelle are the beating heart of Beloved, and the vocals and violin (that they respectively bring to the track) create a lovely dance that winds its way into your soul. I’ve been privileged to see the development of Beloved from up close, and this latest track shows the band on confident, new ground.

The new video, beautifully shot by Dean Mitchell, is a visual love letter to the quintessential New Mexico experience, the summer road trip. And even thought lyrically the song may be a somber ode to loss and the fragility of things we care for, it is also, ultimately, a song of hope. I dare you to sing along with the “la la la la”s at the end of the tracking not have a big smile on your face while doing it. Maybe we’re not done for after all.

Watch the video below:

2020: 17 (When All Else Fails, Make 'Zines)

I hope everyone is dealing as best they can while we ride this thing out. Working from home for the past six weeks has been a rollercoaster of emotions for me. I am grateful to have a job and a paycheck, and a house to work from. But the downside has been a slowly creeping ennui as each day seems to blend with the next, and the charm of not showering and working in sweats has long lost its luster.

Thankfully I’ve still been motivated enough to drag my butt outside most mornings, sometimes for a run, sometimes for a walk. Sometimes with a camera in hand, sometimes with just my phone. I have been careful to listen to my inner voice, and not feel that I need to stay creatively productive during this lockdown. I know many artists and musicians, and I have seen a plethora of reactions to this situation. Some folks have been very publicly sharing their personal process, some folks have shut down completely. There is no correct way for artists to deal with a pandemic. To put unrealistic pressure on ourselves to create some kind of masterpiece during all of this is an exercise in self-flagellation. At the same time, I personally have realized that my photography is something that brings my life meaning. More than my career, currently.

So it was with this mindset that I worked on two zine projects this week. They both happened organically. One arose when I was literally staring at the junk accumulated on my desk. The other was the result of a meditative walk, listening to “Music For Nine Postcards” (mentioned in my post last week.) I sat at my desk, beer in hand, Car Seat Headrest in my headphones, and over two work sessions I pounded out the layouts. Thanks to a discount sale at Magcloud, I was able to print one copy of each zine for a grand total of 12 dollars. Just one copy each. Not sure if there will be more, or if these two will be for my eyes only. A record of these times that will sit on my bookshelf for years to come.

Whatever way you are dealing with the crisis is the right way. There is no judgement, no productivity shaming, no advice, no wrong way. There is only your way. Be OK with it. And stay safe.

2020: 16 (Me and My Shadow)

Staying home and staying safe are the rules of the day. That being the case, I still need to be outside, in the ever-warming New Mexico spring. I’ve been getting exercise by running three times a week… right at dawn, before anyone is out on the streets (save for a few dog walkers.) On one of my off days from running, I still got out as the sun was rising, for a pre-breakfast walk through the neighborhood. I decided to run a roll of film into my old K1000, popped on my headphones, and zoned out into the morning light.

I was listening to a tranquil, ambient album by Japanese musician Hiroshi Yoshimura called “Music For Nine Postcards.” It pushed me into a deep meditative state as I strolled. The light was bright, casting sharp shadows. I was alone with myself. I created a series of self-portraits, as my shadow was cast against the trees, sidewalks, streets and buildings in my hood. Everything became slower, my vision more clear as I walked. It was a perfect balm for the pangs of anxiety, boredom and ennui I have been basking in lately.

Grab your headphones, listen to the album and browse the gallery below to take a morning walk with me.

2020: 15 (Non-traditional)

Those of you who know me well, know that I am a person who values tradition. And even though most of my life is lived without the presence of any specific religious or cultural influences, I still choose to adhere to a cobbled-together smattering of rituals. Many revolve around my Catholic, Italian-American upbringing. A quick look at my pantry will prove my devotion to pasta, tomatoes, and pizza, never mind the odd collection of religious mass cards, rosary beads, and candles that are scattered throughout the hidden storage areas in my house.

Over the years, I have become more fascinated with the contemporary adherence to faith-based traditions. New Mexico is an ideal place to see this on display, especially around this time of year, as the 40 days of Lent lead to the celebration of Easter. Every year, for probably the past 10 years or so, I’ve taken part in two Lent-related rituals. One is my weekly Lenten Special lunch at Garcia’s Kitchen. Tortas de Huevos are a special treat, only available during Lent, and every Friday I’d head down to Central Ave in West Downtown to get my fill. The other thing I would do is the Good Friday pilgrimage walk up Tomé Hill, at sunrise. The site is truly magical, and to scramble up the rocky hill, and sit beneath the crosses as the sun peeks out over the Manzanos in the east; it is something very special, regardless of your own belief system.

Of course, this year, none of this was able to happen. I did get to enjoy a couple of meals at Garcia’s before the stay at home orders came out. But my annual trek up the Hill did not happen yesterday. I truly missed it. Even the pre-dawn drive south has a certain kind of feeling to it. I am sad I could not do it this year, but also grateful that I am home, safe, with my wife. We have food, alcohol, toilet paper and a fairly reliable wifi connection, so all things considered, I am lucky…blessed even.

As I said, I am not a religious person, but this weekend seems to be an appropriate time to have thoughts of renewal, recovery, return. While I breathe, I hope.

2020: 14 (Back To The Bosque)

Spring is in the air, even if this is a spring like no other. Nature doesn’t pay much attention to the trials and tribulations of humans. The birds are chirping every morning, the plants and trees are sprouting, the temperature is warming, the days are getting lighter. Thankful for all of this, as I spend most of my time in my house, at my computer.

Working from home is a luxury, but it is also a challenge to set boundaries, and conference calls and answering emails, and Zoom sessions are tiring in their own way. So it is that time outside that really feeds me. I’ve started running in the mornings again. The park is almost always empty, a nice chill in the air that dissapates as the sun rises.

I also had the opportunity this week to head back to the bosque, along the Rio Grande, to continue my year-long project. Wandering the woods along the river, right after sunrise, was inspiring and restorative. The light was gorgeous, the ducks and geese where flying and calling overhead. Some trees and grasses were showing their green again, but the mighty cottonwoods have yet to come back to life and color. That will be a treat for another visit.

It is a great joy to shoot one roll of film, 72+ exposures via the half-frame camera, in one outing. It is liberating, especially not giving much concern to each individual image. Instead, treating the entire roll of film as its own thing. I look forward to the 5 more months I have on this project, and really look forward to making a zine of this work when the project is completed.

If you can, get outside and breathe the fresh air, feel the sun on your skin, and listen to the birds.