Photography Atelier

Shadow Land  

While exploring different cities I noticed that there is one element of human behavior that does not change. The common thread is that, in all places, people congregate together. No matter what city I photographed in, the relationships between people never changed. It is human nature to want to categorize oneself as a way to identify with others. The interesting aspect for me however, was that although people grouped themselves in different ways based on their relationships, destinations and ethnic backgrounds, all of their shadows were cast the same. Whether they were riding bikes, holding hands, or walking with a group of friends, all of their shadows followed behind them like the personal life stories we each own. 

My intention of capturing the light and shadow of people moving through a city from a high vantage point expresses the view that people are like ants. There maybe multiple different colonies of ants that on the surface look very different from one another but if you look at them from a far they are really just ants existing in the same shadow land as us.  

The In-between 

What you say and what I hear is not the same.  

Simple communication easily becomes distorted. Most of what we try to convey remains a mystery. By the time I decode your message, my own experiences, values and emotions have warped its wished-for meaning.  

Even as my chosen words, however well-intended, flow from my mouth to your ears, I can see how imperfect they are. As they float to you, I want to catch them and try again. Distracted by your own thoughts – they are lost in the in-between. 

Misunderstood or misconstrued. What does it matter? 

I am not mechanically generating words – I speak with my heart, mind and beliefs, just as you do. Hidden under the layers, the inaudible wish to be understood is muted. There is no blame. Not on the sender or the receiver. 

These images were inspired by a magical trip into the desert to listen to music, an infant at The Perkins School for the Blind nicknamed “Jelly” and the vulnerability of love. The diptychs are intended to represent my own fractured ability to communicate all that is hidden beneath. 

Mother Nature’s Easel

 My earliest memories are of my wanderings about the forests, meadows and mountains of my childhood home in western Maine. Guided by my father, I learned the names of all the flora and fauna, and learned to appreciate their beauties.  Six decades later, I have found my way back to the places of my early fascination. 

 The photographs before you represent my continuing wonder of Mother Nature and her artistic hand at molding all of her created parts and pieces in just the right places. 

 It is my pleasure to share Mother Nature’s Easel with you. 

Interstellar

As a child, I was fascinated by the stars. We used to lie in the meadow at night and listen to my grandfather tell us stories about the Greek gods and goddesses who were trapped in the constellations. He told us how his submarine navigated by the stars during World War II, far out in the Pacific Ocean. These heavenly objects, so far away that I couldn’t reach them in a lifetime, bring light and order to our night sky. That wonder continues today, as I see Venus rising on the horizon at dusk, gaze at a Hunter’s Moon so close I can hold it in my hand, or view images from Voyager’s dance with the rings of Saturn.

In my photography, I look for still moments. Like the celestial bodies of the evening, these photos hold my eye, allowing me to wander in the quiet of interstellar space.

T time 

Most mornings, at 7:12, I board the train for Boston. For an hour I daydream, read, knit, work, snooze, fume–all in my own bubble. When I get off, I shuffle with the herd into a new day. A commute can be an intensely private time in the most public of places. It’s that tension that I am capturing in this series of photographs: the aloneness in a crowd, the pause in a rush, the emptiness in a station after hours. 

Light under Light

I explore fluorescence, a richly colored spectral dimension that is hidden in plain sight, submerged in the sea of white light in which we spend our lives. Some of that light can be absorbed and re-emitted at new wavelengths, a kind of optical alchemy that produces unexpected colors and patterns in seemingly familiar subjects. Fluorescence is around us all the time but it is weak, so we pass unaware of its presence. I work in the dark to unlock this hidden dimension with special lights and filters, then use photography to record what I find. What you see in the images is not a trick of digital processing – it is a record of what you can see with your own eyes when you explore the magic of this spectral world.

In the Quiet Hours

I have always been thrilled by the night. On summer evening ice cream runs, I’d gaze out of the back-seat window, watching the moon follow our car.  My imagination spun thinking about what could be “out there”. The night with its dark cloak covers the familiar – revealing instead mysterious shapes and strange bright lights.

Night photography started as an exercise to work in the style of an admired artist. Like many, I have been a longtime fan of Todd Hido’s photography. His nocturnal scenes seem laden with suspense and anticipation; they possess a beauty and vulnerability that continues to haunt me.

Hunting down rural trailer parks and forlorn motels echoed themes in his work was quite a lark for me. One evening, my courage gave way to timidity so I explored surrounding landscapes instead. The quiet night unfolded with creatures calling in the distance. With frozen fingers and long exposures in the tranquil night, came unexpected colors from various light sources. I was hooked.

In this latest series, I am continuing my explorations to further satisfy that fascination with the dark hours. Each excursion never fails to present a surprise, be it the sound of the wind in owl wings or an unexpected splash of color.

Season Prelude 

Driving up Route 6 in early spring to Truro, I scan the sides of the road to see what’s open. How does this seaside town, three miles at it’s widest, ready itself for an influx of summer residents and visitors? I’ve spent parts of so many summers here, and many  places hold personal meaning to me: a restaurant where my son had worked in the kitchen, a motel where guests at my daughter’s wedding had stayed, and a small museum, which presents Truro’s history through the stories of its people. 

My photography focuses on the largely un-noticed scenes and transitions that occur as the town wakes from a very long and quiet time.  Structures so close to the sea need constant repair, patching and painting.  When a building isn’t heated in winter, artifacts must be protected from mold and mice; rooms are “put to bed” for the winter, dressed and readied in spring.  A host of local carpenters, volunteers and employees address these needs, year after year. 

Through my work I feel a deeper connection to this community, which has figured so strongly in my life. We don’t often appreciate all that’s happened before another summer starts and we visit again. 

Sanctuary 

The woods are close. They offer safety and solace amid fear. These photographs recall the lost time of of my childhood which was fraught with the extremes of maternal love, and sudden abandonment. 

This project is an exploration of a very early childhood experience. My father died suddenly of polio when I was two. My mother raised me and my brother alone in the country in a house surrounded by vast woods. Memories of love and warmth with each evening’s bedtime story are woven with those horrible times when anger and grief overtook her. Cupboard doors would slam. Loud cries lashing out at the walls, and I thought, me. What did I do? 

Tires squealing. Would she ever come back? Run, run away to the woods. Hide, wait and hope for safety to return.  

Hiding out in the woods was my sanctuary. Reading Dr. Seuss brought magic and comfort. These photographs are meant to challenge ones sense of self as a child buffeted by these emotions. These memories are both raw and now muted by the vagaries of time and experience.