Ocean’s Edge

I grew up on a tidal river with brackish water. Against the midwife’s prediction I was born before low tide. As far as I can think back I have always loved the water, and the moment I moved to New England I fell in love with the Atlantic Ocean. And I love photography. All formats and aspects of it.

The photographs displayed here are part of a larger project that reflects my love of water and photography, and embraces the beauty and abundant variety of options that coexist in life, in nature and in photography. They show what the waves have left for me to find on the ocean’s edge. To emphasize their still, mysterious potential I chose the historic Wet Plate Collodion process. The original ‘quarter plates’ were scanned and enlarged for this exhibit.

Interesting Life of Bubbles

I wondered what the camera would reveal if I made bubbles in a glass container by pouring a stream of water into it.  I am a scientist and engineer and I thought that the water stream would drag air into the bowl and, as it filled, form bubbles in the turbulent water.  I photographed the bubbles from above in a bowl and from the side in a flat sided vase.  I was surprised by the variety of patterns of the bubbles and how the light reflected off them.

Photographed from the side, light trails appeared from the rising bubbles in the turbulent water.  I surrounded the glass containers with lights of different color and used slow shutter speed to capture the trails.  I aimed my camera down at the surface of the water. Bubbles formed, expanded and finally collapsed. I could not help wondering if this is what our universe looks like to some far distant timeless observer.  

I began this photographic adventure by taking my camera and wondering, “what would happen if…” and ended up finding the universe in a bowl of water.  Fascinating, as Spock would say.

Yards of Faith

Living on the Somerville/Medford line, I have been fascinated by the statues of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and various saints that often decorate the yards in the neighborhood. In an era where one’s religious conviction is a private matter, I am drawn to these public proclamations of faith from a previous generation that is often the first on this side of the Atlantic. The shrines have been placed in commemoration of a loved one, of a promise made to God in a time of stress, or as a simple reminder of faith. Some of them are maintained with great care while others have fallen into neglect. They may be left behind to new owners that keep them in the yard out of respect or they disappear with a developer’s eye on modernizing.

In photographing these shrines, I have gained a connection to the neighborhood and its rich immigrant traditions.

Dreamed Botany

The growing season in New England can be very short. As a nature photographer, I often visit greenhouses to stay with the green a little bit longer. I thought I would find comfort in the orderly life of the plants living and thriving, kept in orderly rows and beautiful tableaus by the gardeners.

But I found my interest drifting away from the center, towards the edges. This plant that grew between the walls of the greenhouse, that plant that stretched towards the sun, away from the heat of the room, the press of its neighbors. I became fascinated with where the weathered frames of the greenhouse connected with the smooth leaves of the plants. Some days, I didn’t even go inside – what drew me were the light and color of the sun, shining through the greenhouse, a vision of what might be. My end of season visits unveiled a dreaming world within the greenhouse. The plants stretch in unexpected ways, making their own way to the sun. Without words or voices, they make their desires known. I don’t need to know their names to see them yearning for the light, reaching for space, for a breath of fresh air.

The plants of my dreamed botany embody the aesthetic of wabi-sabi. A Japanese philosophy of art, wabi-sabi encompasses the idea that beauty is not perfect or permanent. Change and simplicity are central to this idea. The perfect blooming flower is not as beautiful as the decaying vine. The otherworldliness of the plants is grounded in the scarred glass pane, the peeling wood frame, the rusting metal edge.

Solitude 

I truly enjoy what I call, “the Hunt for the Elusive Magical Image”. I find it difficult to define that image, but I’m always aware of a comment from a photography friend. “Why do I have to define it, it should be enough that I find beauty in it myself.” Even with that thought in my mind, I like to try to define my photographs.

When I photograph, I grab my gear and head toward a predetermined destination with a plan for the day. History has proven that normally I neither arrive at my destination nor stick to my plan. I react to the conditions I find myself in. I look for strong affects from the surrounding light. I always work with light sources as I find them; the sun, moon, stars, street lights… My photographs represent simple presentations of isolated and possible forgotten places where one might spend a private moment of solitude.

Sharing my “Solitude” project allows you to enter a simple world, which I truly enjoy. I have found spots that have seemingly been forgotten and neglected by today’s fast paced society. These spots draw me to them because of the solitude they allow me. In my solitude, I am able to reflect on simpler times shared with my loved ones.

It is my pleasure to share these “Elusive Magical Images” with you.

Optical Shards 

We are surrounded by windows that reflect light. There are often reflections inside reflections that we dismiss, don’t acknowledge, or even see. These optical shards disappear with a turn of the head or a step to the right. Familiar, but also worth a second look and consideration.

As I photograph reflections, I muse on feelings I forgot to feel, details I didn’t notice, dreams I can’t quite recall, conversations I don’t understand, and places I miss in my rush through life. Just out of reach, but for me, still worth pursuing.

REFLECTIONS: A Moment in Time

The images reflected on the surface of a building tell us about the surrounding environment, the lighting at that moment, and the surface on which the image is reflected.

With a particular interest in architecture, I am drawn to buildings that are intentionally designed to create a dynamic relationship with their environment. Buildings with reflective surfaces such as glass, polished steel, and copper are constantly changing with the light. I am fascinated by the way the light abstracts the surrounding environment and creates continually changing images.

 It has been a challenge to control the aesthetic qualities of each photograph, and the surprising results are rewarding.

The images in this series represent internal landscapes of the human experience – lands full of memories, dreams and secrets. They are visual metaphors that embodies the vulnerability of our mortal nature.

The themes for this work are very personal and come from real places and experiences from my time growing up in Lima, Peru, among them: the end of an idyllic childhood followed by strong societal pressures on young women, feelings of alienation from society and religion and living with fear during the terrorist attacks in the city. Every piece is associated with a particular emotion which is reflected in my work through these images featuring women of different ages. These photographic collages also incorporate objects associated with memories and writings from my journals.

These images were inspired by my personal history but I hope that this work transcends its origins and speaks to our universal humanity.

Crossing the Merrimack

The southernmost bridge across the Merrimack River is 5 miles from my home; the northernmost crossing, at the Veterans Memorial Bridge in Boscawen, NH, is 73.4 miles from my driveway.  There are 43 crossings in between and in April 2015 I decided to make photographs of them all.  There would be photographs from both the eastern and western shores, from below the bridge, and, when possible, images of the river seen from the bridge. Defining the project in these procedural terms was a simple  self-management stratagem, as my preference when making landscape photographs has been to approach each project with an empty mind, allowing the world to surprise and seduce me, and to teach me unforeseen lessons.

This project is shaped by several rivulets of influence, some flowing from personal history, some from the influence of artists I have admired, and some from prior photographic projects. I have for most of my life, sought out the water as a place to live near, to play in, and to contemplate.  Bridges and rivers play prominent roles in the history of landscape art, and an emerging interest in 19^th century Japanese prints, especially those of Hiroshige and Hokusai, has brought me closer to that tradition. Previous work has centered on how bodies of water define urban landscapes or, more generally, the intersection of human intention and geological structure and river crossings are a very manifest embodiment of human intention.

As a former writer, I was always thinking about the words I would use to describe something. The words would guide what I saw and in fact how I saw it. As a photographer, I have to learn to block out the verbal description of a scene and just experience it visually, with no intervening words. I try to see colors and shapes and lines and visual relationships at their purest.

I find that one of the best ways to create impact on my viewers is with strong contrasts of color and light and shadow and darkness. The Dutch masters knew this: I love the way, especially in the chiaroscuro paintings of Rembrandt and his contemporaries, a strong light source illuminates a part of the picture and makes that pop out of surrounding semi-darkness.

Recently, I am finding that, following the work of one of my favorite photographers, Parisian night photographer Brassaï, urban night photography allows me to express that vision. Most large urban areas are visually alive, but I have found Boston at night to be especially exciting. The bright lights pop out of the darkness, and near water and bridges the light reflects everywhere. The downtown, the business district, and especially the Zakim Bridge–all these startle with concentrated light and the deep mystery of the dark.

My images are often dark, but for me, photographer Jay Maisel nails it: “The more light you have in an image, the less drama you get. The details start taking over; the mystery is all gone. The effect of limited light causes drama by leaving most of the image dark.”