Category: Uncategorized

 

I'd like to share with you another image from a recent photo outing, taken just below the Skytop monument, our area's most iconic feature and, for me, a psychic pivot point around which I seem to be drawn, not unlike a moth to a flame.

There is a school of painting in Japan that includes their Mt. Fuji in any painting – that seems to be the way I feel about Skytop, even though it is a manmade feature of the landscape (a stone tower constructed to memorialize the passing of one of the Smiley twin brothers, founders of the spectacular Mohonk Mountain House) and even though it is not actually in every photograph I make of the area.

I was hiking with a friend when we came across this scene of trees in peak autumn foliage growing among the talus boulders that one finds at the base of the cliffs.  I was struck, as always, by the way that life seems to find purchase, and even thrive,  in what would appear an inhospitable spot. To my mind,  part of the beauty in this image is the juxtaposition of the geometric and unyielding blocks of Shawangunk conglomerate populated by the graceful forms of the trees.

At the end of our trek, we arrived at the base of Skytop where my hiking companion made this photo of me in the waning light of the day.

 

 

 

I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon photographing the fall foliage with Jo-Ann and Anthony Campagiorni on Sunday.  They were kind enough to bid on an outing with me in order to raise funds for St. Luke's Cornwall Hospital.

We had a perfect day – sunny, warm and the foliage at or close to peak color.  We talked about a lot of photographic concepts and I had decided prior to our meeting that I wanted to leave them with a few "take-home points."

First one: "what are you trying to say?"  The challenge of photography, and really of any creative endeavor, is to distill a personal experience into an evocative (or provocative) final product using the medium you've chosen.  Will the image you've framed in your viewfinder deliver that experience to the viewer? 

Second tip: for the optimal color, photograph the fall foliage with the light behind the leaves in order to achieve a glowing backlight effect.

And, finally, pay close attention to the edges and corners of the frame.  This is where I find it very helpful to use a tripod – it's easier to examine closely how I've framed an image and then make subtle but telling adjustments.

We are collaborating with the Wallkill Valley Land Trust (WVLT) on a project to raise funds for land preservation in the area.

I've donated a photograph and Craig Shankles of PDQ Printing in New Paltz has kindly agreed to donate printing of a poster that the WVLT will make available for a donation to be determined.

This is the image we've chosen for the poster which will be printed approx. 15" x 25" and should be available by Labor Day.

Since the photo and printing have been donated, all proceeds will benefit the Wallkill Valley Land Trust and their land preservation efforts.

The may be contacted directly at 845.255.2761 or info@wallkillvalleylt.org or see their website at http://www.wallkillvalleylt.org/

One of the reasons, if not the reason, "conceptual art" has never found purchase in my mind is, I think, because of the very presence of the artist as the source of the conceptual puzzle. It seems to me such an obvious conceit and therefore, regardless of scope or complexity, small.

Garrison Kiellor observed, "A poem is not a puzzle that you the dutiful reader is obliged to solve." Is it not so for all artistic endeavors?  Does the work register? resonate? provoke or evoke a feeling without our first thinking about it?

Many artists, myself included, sense that there is something more that results from our creative efforts, usually without being able to precisely describe what that "something" may be.

 Lewis Hyde addresses this notion in his book, The Gift: "…along with any true creation comes the uncanny sense that "I," the artist, did not make the work."  And, wrote D.H. Lawrence. "Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me." I heard this referred to recently as: "….the secret strangeness that lies beneath the world of appearances."

One is almost inclined to believe that trying to pin down this elusive quality of artistic expression may result in the destruction or dissolution of it's power – better not to know.  Perhaps it's akin to the curious physics principle that the very act of quantifying the speed or mass of a subatomic particle actually changes the particle.

Or maybe Louis Armstrong said it best when, asked what's jazz replied: "If you have to ask, you'll never know."

Reading Jonah Lehrer's book "How We Decide" – not unlike Malcolm Gladwell's bestseller: "Blink" – I'm reminded how much our perceptions of the world are relative.

In one telling experiment, subjects were asked to rate their favorite strawberry jams from among a dozen or so.  Once that had been accomplished, the researchers asked them to then describe what it was that they liked and why one jam was selected over another.  Finally, they were asked once again to rate the jams.  Surprisingly, the results from the first and second trials were very different.

The researchers, and Lehrer, account for this by noting that we use two different parts of the brain for each of these two tasks: in the first one our brains are judging the taste…etc. in a non-analytic way — gut instinct, one might say.  Actually, the brain is subconsciously processing lots of information in this mode, just not in a way that we are aware of.

In the second trial, when the subjects are asked to defend their choices, the "rational" part of our mental processing steps in and attempts to legitimize the ratings.  However, this causes the jam to be experienced differently, in a more intellectual way, and so the gut instincts  (perhaps we can call them our pre-cognitive impressions)  are second-guessed.

I'm wondering how often this happens when we are contemplating a work of art.  In some cases, it may actually enhance our perception, as when we are informed that the Van Gogh painting before us is the last one he painted before committing suicide.

More often, I'm guessing, our rational mind second-guesses our gut-feeling and the magic is lost.