Fresh pine, mountain air, a roll of film and the warm embrace of old friends is the best remedy for any existential crisis that I know of. Recently my life has been full of constant reminders that whether good or bad, nothing in this life is ever permanent.
Here are a few moments I particularly enjoyed from last weekend. Some are captured digitally on my Canon Mark II, and some are captured on 10+ year old 35mm film with my Canon ae1.
Reflections on the Salton Sea
Photo Collaboration with Alexis Tia Diller • www.alexistia.com
It was a comfortable 95 degrees as I stepped out of the car and took in the barren landscape of Bombay Beach. It took us almost 3 hours to get there and all of 2 minutes to circle the perimeter of the dilapidated town. The array of clutter in the front yards of the houses we passed alluded to the lives of the occupants who called this town home, but there was not a soul in sight. I'm not sure what I expected exactly, but this wasn't it. I was out of my element.
As an art student in college I have seen enough photographs of the Salton Sea from peers and professionals alike to create a false sense of familiarity with that foreign place. Inspired by the work of Richard Misrach, my photography friends, and my own large ego, I hadn't done any planning or preparation besides plugging Bombay Beach into Google Maps once Alexis and I were already in the car. I was putting all my trust into the artistic process of 'winging it.' I believed that I would know exactly what I wanted to shoot the moment I saw it.. which is how I instead found myself crouching over decaying fish carcasses completely burning through my first roll of film.
I didn't know what to point my camera at that hadn't already been photographed a million times before. Previously enchanted by the notion that I would shoot the Salton Sea in a new and unique way that would blow people away, I was forced to accept that I didn't do my homework and prepare adequately enough to create any photos of real significance. As a portrait photographer I usually rely on meeting and conversing with new people to give context and direction to how I shoot that particular place. I try to let their narratives influence how the landscape unfolds on film. With the exception of the kind old local who gave us directions before disappearing, Alexis and I were just two of several photographers roaming around the muddy shoreline with cameras to our eyes, not talking to one another.
Where were all the people, the half submerged cars and furniture, or the eroding humanity I was promised? I was ankle deep in mud and fish guts, one roll of film filled with shots of garbage (literally), and at a loss for how to make something out of all this nothing.
The only time I really felt like I knew what I was doing was when Alexis and I collaborated on a series of portraits along the shoreline. I was reassured that at least some of the photos hidden on my film would come out alright. The rest I would have to wait and see.
I'm glad I went and grateful that Alexis came with (and drove) me, but more then anything I want to venture back out there and do the dang thing properly.
Included at the end are a few photos from a different salty sea to help finish my last roll of film.
Stars, Strobes, and Spiders
I wanted to venture someplace new last weekend, so I asked my former-Gaucho friend Hunter to be our fearless leader/climbing guide for his old stomping grounds in Santa Barbara. After several long road-rage and reggae filled hours on the 5 freeway we finally found ourselves winding up the beautiful 5N12 with a car full of camera equipment, climbing gear, and Trader Joe's snacks (and by snacks I mean peanut butter pretzels and hard root beer). If people would only learn how to drive better in North County/Orange County/Los Angeles we may have been able to actually climb more on Saturday, but we did manage to make it to the Lizard's Mouth just in time for some spectacular sunset bouldering. Since the approach was fairly low key, I brought my portable strobe along to play with when I wasn't climbing. We spent most of Saturday night around the Lizard's Mouth area making our way up fun and mellow sandstone problems while trying to avoid all the crane flies, centipedes, and spiders that kept trying to crash our climbing party. We ended the night by watching the moon rise above the clouds with a little bit of Led Zeppelin courtesy of Alexis and her guitar before crawling into our sleeping bags and snoring. Our Sunday started bright and early thanks to the local gun range and some early morning shotgun enthusiasts. Not wanting to waste daylight, we made our way down to the Brickyard where I spent most of the day climbing and befriending lizards rather than photographing. It was a short but fun weekend with friends at one of the most beautiful crags I've had the pleasure of climbing at.
A big 'Thank You' is owed to Hunter for showing us around his local college crag, and another major thanks to both Alexis and Hunter for agreeing to climb in the pitch dark so I could get the right long exposures. You guys rock.
The Gap Between Intention and Effect
"Everybody has that thing where they need to look one way but they come out looking another way and that's what people observe. You see someone on the street and essentially what you notice about them is the flaw. It's just extraordinary that we should have been given these peculiarities. And, not content with what we were given, we create a whole other set. Our whole guise is like giving a sign to the world to think of us in a certain way but there's a point between what you want people to know about you and what you can't help people knowing about you. And that has to do with what I've always called the gap between intention and effect. I mean if you scrutinize reality closely enough, if in some way you really, really get to it, it becomes fantastic. You know it really is totally fantastic that we look like this and you sometimes see that very clearly in a photograph. Something is ironic in the world and it has to do with the fact that what you intend never comes out like you intend it."
- Diane Arbus
San Diego, CA • June 2012