Shimmering

How could I cope with a shifting landscape due to life-altering loss? My bearings became wobbly, vision uncertain, and my comprehension of events and feelings, indistinct.  Reality was too gruesome to bear. It was impossible to focus my mind and body in any direction, with conviction, and with consistency. My pace of healing was irregular, oscillating up and down, halting in an abyss with no obvious impetus for change or interest in the future. 

Marl Pond, a tiny, coastal land bank property in Chilmark on Martha’s Vineyard is a stunning location, with pronounced seasonal variations typical of New England weather. In the midst of my continuous struggle with grief and reorienting myself for an uncertain future  bereft of anchors, I found myself on Martha’s Vineyard sequestering from the Covid-19 virus. Marl Pond became my refuge. 

Within the shimmering  waters, trees and lighting, the indistinctness  and impermanence of nature’s images echoed the unsteadiness of finding my balance in a distorted landscape. The visions are constantly in flux, a sobering reminder that nothing in life or in the natural world is permanent. An image taken one second may not be able to be replicated ever again, a key attribute in nature as well as in life. 

Preservation of the beautiful memory culminates in cherishing what has been and what will come. 

Los Habaneros

There is truth in the statement, Havana is a city frozen in time sixty plus years ago.  This is clearly evident in the American cars from the 1950’s still traveling the streets, and in many of the storefronts with their limited consumer goods, but it is also a characterization, which can lead one to a false sense of sentimentality or condescension.

The 1961 US embargo did, in one sense, freeze Havana and cut it off from consumer goods progress, and severely limited its economic development, but the Havana of today is not the Havana of 1961.  Havana today is the outgrowth of the 1959 Revolution, the US embargo and the Cold War which forced the inhabitants of this city, just 90 miles off the US coast to develop in ways they can speak of with great pride and in ways which leave them longing for more.

In 2015 I traveled through Mexico to Havana for the first time.  Although restrictions on travel from the US to Cuba had just been eased, I was one of very few Americans on the streets of Havana not tied to a tour.  The excitement and openness expressed to me by the Habaneros was infectious and led to my returning three additional times.

While concentrating on the sections of Havana known as “Habana Vieja,” and “Centro Habana”, now United Nations World Heritage Sites being renovated and brought back to life, I decided to document not only the buildings but the people living in these currently run-down sections of the city.  Their homes, the means by which they get food, their jobs, and even the newly sanctioned small private enterprise ventures, left me, an American with many privileges in life, awed and humbled by the resilience and ingenuity of the Habaneros.

The images in this body of work grew out of, and helped me to develop, a deeper understanding of Havana and its people. Havana is truly a city of resilience.

Suspended World

These images were created intuitively and spontaneously in my home during the statewide lockdown as my days were blending with one another while I was feeling a growing sense of sadness and depression. Using my body to interact with the rooms and objects in my home and a minimalist approach, I took photographs to mirror my own state of mind.

This body of work connects with others that I have created in the past in response to my dreams. From a Jungian perspective, dreams of houses usually represent the soul and the self, while each room is reflective of a different aspect of our psyche.

Suspended World is divided into three chapters, each one shot in a different room in my home. This is my own personal meditation on being human and being mortal in response to the Great Pause of 2020.

Tanto va el cántaro al agua o Ese querer arrancarse de raíz

Un mundo suspendido

en la madrugada del tiempo.

Una rutina de días.

Me escondo detrás de una palabra

me sacuden los vientos de marzo

Illuminating the Invisible

Nature is in a constant state of change. As winter turns to spring, trees appear bare and dormant in their muted shades of gray.  Piles of old leaves lie on the ground below and slowly decompose.  Microscopic organisms return their nutrients to the soil and complete the cycle of life, death and rebirth, keeping ecosystems in balance.

Walking through the woods on an early spring day, I was surprised to see a golden shimmer disrupt the dreary pallet of the trees. It was a dried leaf fluttering on the branch of a young American Beech. A last dance before it falls to nourish the soil.  The toothed edges of its elliptical shape had curled into a delicate cone. Moving closer, I peered through my camera lens.  A ray of sunlight illuminated the fractal pattern of its veins that resembled a miniature replication of its branches.

I am inspired to get a closer view. This work explores the transitions in nature that are invisible to the naked eye: the long silky hairs that cover an emerging leaf to deter hungry insects or the veins on a wing-like pod that help cut through the air as it spins in the breeze to create a new sapling.  Nature evolves and endures despite dramatic changes in the environment, just as humanity must adapt in the face of its own invisible enemies.

The Song of the Mystic

My photography is an exploration of the natural world, both its beauty and the impacts humans have on it. This work is a view of the natural world in an urban landscape.  I am seeking out the beauty that people just do not see.  I work through photographs, some landscape, some close up, some of wildlife, and occasionally people.  I want to show what I see and what I think is important, to understand its beauty and tell its story.

Through photographs I hope not only to illustrate the Mystic River, but to tell its story, the song of the Mystic.  It is a song that whispers to those who take the time to listen.  It comes quietly, among the noise and tumult of the city, to those who row its waters at dawn, or paddle in the cool of the evening.  It is contained in the struggle of the herring finding their way to its quiet waters or the silent yet spectacular journey of the eels.  It is a song as grand as an eagle, or as simple as a leaf floating on its surface.  It can be as exuberant as a child swimming at the beach on the lake, or as subtle as a fox padding along its bank.  It is a song that comes to those who reach out to know and preserve the natural essence of the Mystic.  Yet the Mystic’s song is a song that has persisted through all of the wounds we have inflicted upon it.  The goal of my work is to preserve the Mystic’s song.

Oh My Goddess

Oh My Goddess is a celebration of the women in my extended family.   It is about honoring these women, most of whom are living full and active lives in southern France.  (I wonder… is the secret to longevity in southern France the Madiran wine or the foie gras, or both…? ) A few of them have now passed, but their memories live on. 

All my family is in southern France, including my ninety-something mother and her ninety-something bffs, my aunt, my cousins and their loved ones.  In this period of the pandemic and its associated restrictions, the distance between me and my family of origin has never seemed so great.  Knowing that I am no longer just a simple airplane flight away from visiting them saddens me. 

These playful depictions of the women in my family reflect happy moments spent with them, while I am here and they are far away.  During my period of confinement, I revisited my family photographs and transformed these ordinary women,  giving them a breath of new life, and capturing their lively spirits and dynamism.  I mean to convey what is most beautiful about them, perhaps enhancing that beauty, even transforming them into goddesses.   

The Walter Baker Chocolate Mills

When I walk through the Walter Baker Chocolate Mill Complex in Milton/Dorchester Lower Mills, MA, my memories are filled with the smell of chocolate.  I grew up in Milton in the 1940s-1960s and these imposing brick buildings that were built by my great great uncle in the late 19^th century along the Lower Falls of the Neponset River were part of my childhood adventures.

I remember the taste of the broken chocolate pieces that were left in pots outside the Webb and Pierce Mills.  I remember the rushing sound of the river as it tumbled over the dam and transformed into millraces, the water channels that led to the former water wheels.  And I remember the sight of the trolley as it came around the bend to Milton station that was opposite the storehouses.  I now understand that this complex was the beginning of my appreciation for architecture and how it anchors me in my life.  The mills not only help me to remember but offer a sense of place today.

I photographed the complex during the spring of 2019 and 2020.  I chose black and white infrared to capture the beauty of these architect-designed buildings within their river environment.  Infrared allows for deeply contrasted images.  It creates an otherworldly feeling with dark sky and water and white foliage and clouds, offering an alternative interpretation of this historic complex as it stands today converted to condominiums.

Inviting Calm

Giving birth. Graduation. Starting a new job or career. Empty nesting. Moving homes. Losing a loved one. While these events may be anticipated, expected and publicly recognized, they usher in more private and unique journeys of transition. How each of us adapts to life’s changes is an individual journey of meaningful personal growth across emotional landscapes and altered life rhythms.

My work honors these personal journeys of transition. Whether landscape or interior, the images reveal the moods, spaces and rituals explored during times of transition. I cultivate authenticity and vulnerability as elements in my work, which is rarely staged or produced.

This project emerged as an emotional response to the unsettling changes introduced by the coronavirus pandemic. These images suggest a refuge of calm found in the natural world while inviting viewers into more intimate spaces and personal rituals of centering.

 

Line, Form and Texture

In this gallery presentation I focus on high contrast black and white images as opposed to my usual style of using realistic color photography.  When I saw the work of photographer Ray Metzger, I was attracted to his use of extreme contrast of light and dark images which he skillfully used to create a very powerful impact. I decided to experiment.  He inspired me to use high contrast black and white images to emphasize line, form and texture to create a dramatic effect.  In this exhibit, I focus on architectural subjects which most effectively reveal the elements of composition using this technique. What was surprising to me was that by using this approach on color photographs, the color images that started out as bland were transformed into images that were highly provocative.

Within a Bubble

Inspired by the events of the current COVID-19 pandemic, I began to photograph the emptiness of our neighborhood and how this condition has impacted our family’s life. The world we knew, our habits, our social life, all have changed in one day. We have found ourselves reclused into our homes with no contact with the outside world. Outside all was quiet, and while spring was approaching the only colors we could enjoy were within our home.

As everything moved to virtual spaces, we had to adjust ourselves to new routines: no school, working remotely from home and no physical contact with the outside world. We lost our freedom. We felt protected only inside our home, wearing masks or by practicing social distancing, feeling safe only within our bubbles. From here I started to photograph my family and our surroundings through a glass. The images try to represent our life as we imagined them from within a bubble, which is the only thing that may keep us safe.

Will this become our new normal?