“Jeff, we demand pictures! You’ve been back for two weeks. How long can it take?”
Alright. Alright. But you’re only going to get a rough timeline.
“Jeff, we demand pictures! You’ve been back for two weeks. How long can it take?”
Alright. Alright. But you’re only going to get a rough timeline.
It’s taking me longer than I had hoped, but you can expect to see photographs and details about our Western swing soon. . . .
I picked up twenty sheets of developed 4×5″ film from the lab today. Although I made hundreds of photographs with my digital camera, these were certainly the most enjoyable to produce and also the ones that filled me with the most trepidation. I’m pleased to report that the results were rather good. Not 100% what I would like . . . but then again I’m a perfectionist who is getting spoiled by the quick (and virtuous) feedback cycle afforded by digital capture and editing.
I really only used my large format camera about a dozen times on the trip, since I bracket most of my exposures, making an extra photograph with a different amount of light reaching the film. The goal is to have a better chance at getting the “right” exposure. On those dozen occasions, the responses from the people around me ran the gamut from indifference to excited interest. I talked to a few people while composing the scene with my head under the focusing cloth; disembodied voices asking me about how my camera works. There were also several people who thought that because I was incapable of seeing them, I also couldn’t hear their conversations about me.
I think my favorite conversation was with a British fellow about my age in Yellowstone.
“That’s some serious gear.” Most people’s first realization that something is up occurs when I unfold the camera as it sits on the tripod. “Are you a professional?”
“No. I’m just a guy with a very expensive hobby; but I’m having a lot of fun.”
Over the next minutes, I attached my wide-angle lens to the camera, set up a photograph of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, focused the camera, took a few meter readings, set the exposure time and aperture, and switched closed the shutter. At that point almost everything is done. I just had to insert the film holder and trip the shutter.
“WOW! That’s some serious gear!” Something about the Quickload film holder touched a geeky, gadget-loving part in my onlooker. I put a sheet of film in the holder, waited for the wind to subside a bit, and tripped the cable release.
“That’s it?” While I find something immensely charming in the mechanical sound of the shutter winding down the fraction of a second that it’s open, most people think it’s anticlimactic, as though fireworks should shoot out from the camera. But then again, I suppose we’re accustomed to thinking that if someone spends fifteen minutes getting a camera ready, the result should be a poster-sized print that magically appears.
The funny thing is, my mom had the same reaction. She wanted to see how my view camera works, so we collaboratively made the image you see above. And I have to admit, it was a bit disappointing that I had to make her wait three weeks to see the result.
But I talked to several very nice people, and a few even took me up on the offer to pop under the focusing hood and see the image on the ground glass. That reaction is the one that makes me the happiest. It usually goes something like this: “It’s dark under here. . . . WHOA! That’s amazing.”
Anyway, enough accentuating the positive. Let’s talk about mistakes.
Fourteen: My ability to get the “correct” exposure sucks (to put it bluntly). As I mentioned, I have been taking a second exposure, usually 1/2 stop brighter, in an effort to get it right. The darker images — which use the exposure values suggested by my meter — are usually 1/2 to one-and-a-half stops underexposed. So I’m going to change my exposure compensation and start bracketing in whole stops. (And eventually I’m going to get an instant film holder to check the images in the field and finally be able to show onlookers something tangible.)
Fifteen: I forgot the filter compensation factor for my polarizing filter. I guessed two stops at maximum effect and seem to have gotten it about right.
Sixteen: Camera shake is quite visible in a 20 square-inch image. Evidently, I need to wait for the camera to settle after the wind stops blowing and after I pull the dark slide on the film. A couple of the image were a bit blurry and not because of focus.
(And for the curious, I’m working on my “ghetto film scanner,” since I still don’t have a scanner that accepts 4×5. The images lack quite a bit of resolution, dynamic range, and color fidelity. But by adding an opaque mask around my film on the light table, I’ve at least managed to get rid of some of the annoying fringing at the edges of the images. I still must use Photoshop to crop the image, correct the perspective, and “fix” the color; and I don’t feel right using it for anything other than showing off here.
I made a couple photographs of my pathetic setup. Yes, it’s made with two hanging file folders taped together which are held flat by whatever I happen to be reading. (Right now that’s the excellent Devil in the White City.)
I love farm toys. My grandfather used to build the real tractors in Waterloo for John Deere, and he would give us 1/16 scale toys when we were kids. After he retired, he decided to rebuild an old Oliver, just to keep busy.
While we were in Billings, we stopped into Action Toys, the best little farm toy store in the world. Here are the fruits of my most recent trip. (Yes, I have a spending limit when I go in.)
So what do we have here?
The tractor pulling the planter is a John Deere 9420T with 425HP engine. I didn’t buy it this trip, but there’s no way the Agco’s 200ish horsepower engine is going to get the field planted, especially when it’s been raining.
Today we went to the Buffalo Bill Historical Center in Cody, Wyoming. It’s a lot of fun, with a little something for everyone.
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Longs Peak – Rocky Mountain NP (Click for larger)
The early part of our travels led us to the northwestern-most point of the first federally funded expedition to the west which included professionally trained scientists and artists. Unlike the Lewis and Clark expedition of 1804-1806, the infamous Zebulon Pike trip to Colorado and the myriad Army Topographic Corps expeditions of the mid-to-late nineteenth century, the western journeys of Major Stephen Harriman Long doesn’t seem to have stuck in the American imagination.
If he’s remembered at all, he’s usually referenced as “that guy who called the Great Plains the ‘Great American Desert’ on his map” or “that guy who climbed Longs Peak.” It’s unfortunate because he blazed a trail for later expeditions that, like his, mixed scientific inquiry and artistic depiction in equal measure. Of course, they also brought their early 19th century prejudices about agriculture, science and scenery with him, thus leading Long not to recognize one of the most biologically diverse and rich ecosystems in the world while he trod over the short-grass prairies.
If you’re interested in learning more about Major Long’s 1819-1820 expedition, you might consider reading “Sandy Wastes:” Exploring and Experiencing the Great Desert, a paper I wrote for an environmental history class about six years ago and then submitted with my graduate school applications. Here’s a short excerpt from the concluding remarks:
[Major Long] inadvertently interfered in the emerging manifest destiny of Americans to overrun the continent. The effective western border he seemed to propose reached barely half-way across the possible extent of the nation. While it is possible that he did slow expansion to the Plains, within three decades a torrent of migrants would make their way through the region and draw their own conclusions. Indeed . . . the idea of the West as a garden held more currency among Long’s contemporaries than the idea of a desert West.
The early appraisals of the West given by Long and other naturalists are complex and require careful consideration, especially when viewed in conjunction with their own scientific evidence which seemed to contradict their conclusions. The volumes of textual, visual, and physical data generated by the explorers ultimately yielded a fairly balanced view of the Plains: a region that is at once hot and dry and yet well-adapted to life, just not necessarily human life. In this respect Long’s conclusions about the habitability of the region prefigured John Wesley Powell’s conclusions about the need for irrigation to aid development in his 1876 Arid Lands report. Moreover, Long blazed the trail for a new type of federally-sponsored western expedition that included scientists, artists, and (later) photographers as an integral part of balanced exploration. Though these explorers were often serving the utilitarian and imperial interests of the state, like Long they strove to help an expanding nation understand and create itself by looking at the land. The conclusions of Long’s party indicate the role of ideological orientation and expectation in the creation of place at the same time that they caution against trusting our initial reactions to alien environments.
Last night we went to a baseball game. The Casper Ghosts — no jokes please! — and the Ogden Raptors had played two complete innings of Rookie League (Advanced) minor league baseball when the umpires called the game on account of wind.
A bit more than an hour later, we headed for the gates since it didn’t show any signs of letting up. I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Yesterday (day #6 of our trip) we left Colorado and headed north to Wyoming. On the way we went over Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain NP.
The image above is just a small section of a large panorama that Photoshop stitched together from forty-four different photographs. (I love the “Photomerge” function!) The full size image is 24,000 pixels wide; but the one linked above is just 3,000. Enjoy!
Here’s a peek at what we did today. . . .
Greetings from Estes Park, Colorado — the Branson of the West! Okay, that’s not exactly fair, since it’s about a thousand times more upscale than Branson; but there are still lots of T-shirt stores, fudge kitchens, and mini-golf venues.
Nevertheless, we have enjoyed the nearby Rocky Mountain National Park very much. After a lazy morning — less jetlag, more Starbucks — we arrived at Estes Park (7,522 feet) around 11:00 and started driving up Trail Ridge Road inside the park. A couple hours later we turned around near the halfway point (ca. 12,000 feet). My brain was wondering where all the oxygen went.
We’re going hiking tomorrow. On our way out of the park we asked a ranger at the visitors’ center this question: “Do you have any flat, low altitude hikes?” A dozen years ago, when I lived in Wyoming, doing a hike above treeline would have been very easy. But now we’re from the Bay State and feeling the lack of elevation (and physical exertion, too). So we’re starting low.
Here are some photographs that Lisa and I made today. (Click any image for a larger version.) More will follow.
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Longs Peak – Rocky Mountain NP
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Looking at Longs Peak – Rocky Mountain NP
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The Rockies – Rocky Mountain NP
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The Rockies – Rocky Mountain NP
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The Rockies – Rocky Mountain NP
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The Rockies – Rocky Mountain NP
First off, to all my Canadian brethren and sistren, happy Canada Day. I’m still not 100% sure what you’re celebrating, but I’m glad that our Civil War scared you into confederation. Sorry if you thought we were gunning for you after that whole “54º40′ or fight” business.
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Denver Convention Center – Click for larger
Anyway . . . We’re only two days into our trip and already having a great time. We just returned from an evening of baseball at Coors Field.
It’s been a while since I saw a really good game. Lisa and I prefer well-pitched games with good defense and a bit of drama. So we were very happy when the Rockies’ Aaron Cook pitched a beautiful, complete-game shutout with just 79 pitches in a shade less than two hours. It’s not like the Padres played poorly either. They had some great defensive plays. The losing pitcher just had a bad fifth inning: four runs on three hits, a fielder’s choice, an errant throw by the shortstop and three stolen bases.
The Colorado Rockies’ park is very nice, and Lisa found us great seats. The weather this evening accommodated us, too. It’s too bad there wasn’t a bigger crowd in the house.
Tomorrow we’re heading to Rocky Mountain National Park. Despite living in Wyoming for several years, I’ve never been there. It looks very pretty from the pictures I’ve seen. We’ll need a little respite after the eventful day we’ve had.
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Colorado Capitol Building, Denver – Click for larger
Yes, it was a very busy, hectic day. Let’s see. On account of a small bit of jet lag we got up a bit earlier than expected and had to stand in line with the young urban hipsters at Starbucks on their way to work. (No one here really understands how to pair shoes with an outfit.) Instead of going to the office we toured the Colorado Capitol. It’s kind of quaint. Government was not in session, so the building had the feel of a ghost town. I think we saw a tumbleweed blow through the rotunda. Everything is gilded, but they don’t have a bronze cod hanging from in the assembly chamber; so chalk another one up for the Mass State House.
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Pioneer Mother, Denver – Click for larger
Just outside, we saw the “Closing of an Era” statue. If you believe the symbolism in the statuary, you might think that Native Americans killed the last bison and thus hastened their own doom. Compare and contrast that with the heroic pioneer woman holding a rifle and raising a child. (Your 2000 word essay is due by the end of the week.)
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Closing of an Era, Denver – Click for larger
We continued our Western art historical adventure a few blocks away at the Denver Art Museum, which has a nice collection of Western American art. The rest of the collection befits a city of its size, but it feels a bit hodgepodge in places. Of course, we’re spoiled by the Boston arts environment, which is significant but very little compared to New York.
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Western Art, Denver – Click for larger
I have mixed feelings about Western American art. Much of it is backward-looking, sentimental and overly romanticized; yet there are strains within “traditional” Western art that provide wonderful insight into how we experience and imagine the West. Plus there’s a lot of technical and artistic virtuosity in the genre as well. And I really love the landscape art of the West, especially the pieces by artists who show the West as it actually was in their time. I like the re-castings, re-imaginings, and re-examinations of the mythic place. After all, I do believe in the West and the Plains as places distinct from the much of the rest of the country. There’s something in the soil, the rocks and the sky and in the way we came about taking possession of it and struggle to hold onto it . . . or even know it.
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Black American West Museum, Denver – Click for larger
Those who know us probably won’t be surprised that after some lunch we took a walk north from downtown, past an invisible red line, to take in the Black American West Museum. I had read a little bit about the “Exodusters” in Nell Irvin Painter’s fantastic Standing and Armageddon, but I really didn’t understand just how much the experience of African Americans in the West mirrored the experiences of almost every other non-indigenous group that emigrated in the 19th and 20th centuries. Doctors, miners, farmers, cowpokes, rodeo cowboys, soldiers, homesteaders, inventors, business owners — not to mention the obvious: fathers, mothers, children, laborers, strugglers — this museum presented a wealth of photographs, documents, and artifacts that showed African Americans chasing and creating the same American Dream that shows up in whitewashed histories and entertainment. It also played down overt racism and suggested that the West was much more egalitarian that those same mainstream sources suggest.
So if you’re in Denver for the Democratic convention or just passing through like us, take a walk up California Street or a short trolly ride to the museum. It’s worth it.
Greetings from the Pacific Northwest. I’m in Bellevue, Washington, taking Herb Sutter’s class, Effective Concurrency. Scott Meyers took the chair right behind me; and, yes, he still needs a haircut. Of course, so do I . . . but not quite so badly. I suspect that I’ll write something here in the coming week or so about what I’m learning.
I spent some time over the weekend with my in-laws in Portland, Oregon. It was wonderful seeing them. And their mischievous dog Penny finally stopped barking at me whenever I stood up by the time I left. The weather is quite beautiful out here, and Dave (my father-in-law) and I went out to the Columbia River Gorge.
A few pictures from this trip and from the last year appear below. They’re all from my mobile phone. One day, I’ll get myself a real digital camera. Maybe one day soon. . . .
I’m full. Sated. Happy.
Fish tacos, my friends. That’s what has brought me to this wonderful place. Batter-fried fish on corn tortillas with salsa, finely cut cabbage, and some secret ingredient that Rubio’s puts in their “Pesky” tacos. With tortilla chips and refried beans on the side. Mmm. . .
It would be wrong to say that I came to California for fish tacos, but I was certainly looking forward to it for several months.
No, I’m in San Jose attending the 20th annual joint SPIE/IS&T Electronic Imaging symposium. Sunday I attended nine hours of short courses: “Color Processing and its Characterization for Digital Photography” and “Perceptual Metrics for Image Quality Evaluation.” Today — before the fish tacos — I sat in on a full day of paper presentations spread over the “Human Vision and Electronic Imaging XIII”, “Image Quality and System Performance V”, and “Digital Photography IV” conferences. (Tomorrow: “Color Imaging XIII: Processing, Hardcopy, and Applications” and “Rocky IV”.) I had hoped to see “Inferring illumination direction estimated from disparate sources in paintings: an investigation into Jan Vermeer’s ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’”, but I was glad that I heard Daniel Tamburrino‘s paper “Digital camera workflow for high-dynamic-range images using a model of retinal processing” instead.
(Supposing that I feel bored motivated, I will try to post some of my notes here in the coming days.)
I’ve only been here two and a half days, but I already feel like I’ve done so much. As I advocate in my book How to Get Rich through Petty Cash, I’m taking the opportunity to enjoy myself while on a business trip. If you travel around the country and only see the inside of your hotel room, you’re wasting your time on this earth. You’ve got to get out of the hotel, out of the high-priced bubble that surrounds any place where convention-goers congregate, and out of town if possible.
The trip from Boston on Saturday was one of the nicest cross-country flights I’ve ever had. It was my first time flying Jet Blue — I like the seats but don’t think I made the most of the seat-back amenities — and I was the only person in my row. Looking out my window I saw the white, snow-covered fields, ice-covered ponds and the sluggish rivers of New England give way to a deep shag of clouds over Minnesota and the corrugated origami of South Dakota and Wyoming. Rapid City, which I’ve never liked at ground-level, was a fine, delicate etched glass trophy on the edge of the blue Black Hills, the gateway to my old flame. Were those spiral holes in the ground and the furrows of overburden south of Gillette there last time? Surely those oil wells near Midwest still make the same unearthly bullfrog croaking I remember when we stopped the car to look at the bright smear of the milky way on a cold winter’s night more than a dozen years ago. And there’s the interstate leading to my city, my river, my mountain, my mother, my long-gone adolescent angst. I press my hand to the window. Clouds and snow fill in the depths of the Wind River Range, the last of the Rockies before the great folds in the earth when we enter Utah and then Terra Incognita and Terra Nullius in Nevada. Lake Tahoe, defiant, is not frozen but a deep black, unlike the muddy water covering fields in the Central Valley. And there’s glorious Point Reyes, unbelievably beautiful in the light of a western sun shining through broken clouds. Finally, the Golden Gate and its fabulous bridge.
After getting my rental car, I immediately headed to the SFMoMA, to see the Jeff Wall exhibit, which closed Sunday while I was in my classes. I like many of Jeff Wall’s photographs, but I’m deeply ambivalent about his work in general. First he has a reputation as the most cerebral living photographer, but I often I feel that the nonstop art historical references — less that a quarter of which I doubt I caught — get in the way of making a photograph that’s pleasing to look at. Should we really let folks like Wolfgang Tillmans, Jürgen Teller (NSFW), and Wall — or me for that matter — revel in elevating every ordinary scene and still claim a fig leaf of art historical pretension? Perhaps if I were more of an insider, I would be less ambivalent; but such is the way with me and all modern art. An-My Lê’s photographs from her Small Wars and 29 Palms series were perfect. And the black-and-white and color work of the Silicon Valley from Gabriele Basilico had me amazed and envious. Finally, I have to admit that despite liking monographs better than surveys, and themed exhibitions better than a hodge-podge of recent acquisitions, I liked Picturing Modernity, a hodge-podge survey of photographs from the museums collection, very loosely grouped around a two word title and including several pictures that (too conveniently) would have fit in recent exhibits at the National Gallery of Art (like this one and that one). Surely it was the luscious, large deadpan photos at the exhibit entrance that enticed me to give it a free pass.
Well that’s all that’s new from the other coast. I wish Lisa were here, and I miss having the cat lie upon my lap while I scratch under his chin. But these small prices must be paid by an international playboy with an expense account a conference to attend.
On Tourists: I’m a tourist, and I’m proud of it. If there’s no way you can blend in, why fight it?
On Snapshots: The snapshot has a bad rap. These pictures are who we are. If we’re lucky, they look good. If we’re even luckier, we look good in them. If we’re really, really lucky, we’re Wolfgang Tillmans, and people think that our snapshots are good enough for the museum. (Curators clearly see something that I don’t.)
So when we were in DC last week, I made some pictures of other tourists, many making their own snapshots. I will post our favorite snapshots soon.