Lost in the archive again recently, I had the chance to revisit this moment from a shoot of dozens of train cars delivering long sections of  48" steel pipe for a new stretch of pipeline. There must have been thousands. It gave me the opportunity look through this section and others lined up when the train stopped for unloading. I enjoy those subtle variances in and out of symmetry and the repetition of the barely apparent rims of pipe showing between the sections. Why wouldn't so many pipes just lie there and reveal another silent melody?  A very lucky find seeing it.

This is actually our friend at the top.

ASSIGNMENT: Image for cover story featuring mayoral candidates to attend a gourmet cooking event.

It was suggested that the cover feature mayoral candidates standing in a bowl of gumbo in acknowledgement of the campaign heating up and to set the stage for the event. Of course, due to jammed schedules, candidates would have limited time and already, little time remained before the publishing deadline. Hoping at least to photograph them together to maintain consistent perspective, I elected to shoot them just inside the door of a garage with natural light plus strobes from the subjects' left.
Day of the shoot; oops, "they can't all make it today...blah, blah, blah" so reschedule and leave everything set for the next afternoon. The next day, all happens on time. Then the gumbo comes with with no time for more than minimal styling--not too tasty either. Not what I expected, the digital kitchen can help. With all my ingredients, I start chopping, stirring and it starts to simmer and smell nice.

Next, peel these guys out of their backgrounds. I had set up a group of old file cabinets to help me recognize where the edge of the bowl might be and where they'd be leaning. I didn't get the bowl I'd expected/asked for, so much of the vision just had to adjust; no room for rice and the shrimp had to be moved, too.

Working on the placement; considering editorial preferences for text, additional graphics and such, I finally accepted the arrangement lower right and started working on incidental detail. Almost finished and the phone rang, "Really?! One more thing—the gentleman in front with glasses won't be attending after all, rearrange." Okay, only one guy at the front rim means more room for that shrimp and the okra. Leave the background separate so the magazine's masthead they can slip in front of the background, but still behind their heads. Okay.
A few little tweaks here and there and they're in a happy hot-tub of gumbo with some fresh yummy, twenty-pound shrimp and huge okra. Tasty, if you can't see behind the curtain...pay no attention!

 

Yakmeister

I was recently asked to photograph these works by Steve Culp. I was aware of his interest in aircraft. I knew he was a pilot and restored planes and had even, just recently, learned that he'd won numerous flying competitions, I had no idea about the extent of his metal-working skills. I'd been told that he worked on motorcycles planes, but not that he designed and built his own bi-planes—from scratch. I've since learned that he'd completely restored many fine classic and racing autos from the ground up.

These are pieces from a group he's produced recently with special historic car and motorcycle parts and miscellaneous other things he's found elsewhere and melded them into these fanciful creatures that seem like they might have evolved on some strange mechanical planet.

Dogfella

These aren't plumbing and appliances bolted together into robots. While some seem derived of Earth creatures, they depart with such whimsy, there's just no way to easily associate them with the one's we know on our planet.



 Beyond an initial response, detail after detail draws one into features noticeably similar to jewelry as he's introduced the use of contrasting polish against texture and fantastic iridescent hues in the surface of the metals. Even Steve's welds go beyond merely joining parts and serve to invent texture and are even used alone to add embellishment to associate different areas to each other.



Tarty Bird

There are some parts one might recognize, for example, tarty bird's clearly wearing some ginchey old lady's glasses, dog fella is really a copper fire extinguisher and machinists might be able to point out specific engine parts and such, but over all, they get lost in the identity and humor of the piece.

It isn't often that I have the opportunity to photograph a body of work crafted with a character and level of ingenuity equal to these. Add the good-natured confidence of the artist, who's already proven himself, engineering serious projects dependent on functional design, yet able to apply the same level of creativity to objects like these, intended for pure enjoyment and I'm pleasantly reminded of the the excitement I experienced in my early successes as I learned to operate my first camera.  

Steve Culp and sculpture, "Tally Ho"

Inspiration in His Artistry

Often, I'm called upon to produce photographs that lead to an inspirational experience. This shot of Wayne Anderson is a prime example. Wayne is someone whom I've known for many years. We originally met when he was among a group of my older brother's college partying friends. Our original meeting was less than inspiring as my brother's friends were pretty hardy partiers for the sixties. Or so it seemed to me at the time. I was still in high school and hadn't begun developing the more playfully adult social skills (talents?).
I attempted to remedy this a few years later, when after graduating, I again encountered a few members of the group and fell under their influence and guidance for a short while.
Many years passed before I would again hear of Wayne, but this time, related to his reputation as a craftsman. It was during one of my occasional calls to "touch base" with Wayne, that he asked me to produce photos to accompany an article about him in a national trade magazine. I was happy to have the opportunity to capture him at work, though I'd hoped for sometime to take on the task. As anyone can see, he offers much to the character of a photograph with strong features set off by the color and texture of his classic beard. He could pass for a guild member in any era. Seeing how he produces the finely detailed features, working with all manner of fine woods, more than set the solemn mood I hoped to portray with him and his special tools.
This image is a spec poster I proposed, but that Wayne's modesty prevented from being produced. I can see now that at his level in the industry, he needn't stimulate more business lest he spend less time per task and risk compromising;the quality of his work. Seeing the refined nature of his work, it is easy to be overwhelmed by its appeal. I rarely have an opportunity to play, but whenever I think about it, my fantasy is to approach the table with one of Wayne Anderson's splendidly custom-crafted Bella Sera cues.

WayBack Machine Set for 1975

I forced myself out tonight for a productive meeting after recreational plans fell through and ran into someone I'd not seen in decades. Whole chunks of grey matter quivered and asked for fresh plasma to shake off sleep so they could compare notes.
Hours later, I'm remembering things related and others I've meant to attend, but re-forgotten lately. These images are some from my student archives of '75; a summer of living in my studio, a former dorm in an ancient on loan to the Art Department and overrun by art students. Much like a dorm, but worse.

As I was prone to do, I floated on the fringe of groups including this cluster of aspiring painters who more successfully enjoyed Bob Wills and Coors which, at the time, had be imported from Dallas and I managed to facilitate on return from visits to a young woman of no uncertain interest, whom I'm sure would insist on remaining nameless (initials JL)—there was some partying. The "Sundown West" and 3.2 beer were still a new thing in Ruston. I still had three quarters to go until I'd have to formulate a realistic plan for survival supported by my still evolving photographic skills. I had no idea what I was in for, poor kid/lucky fool.
I abandoned Ruston a year later, failing to come up with sufficient interest in going for a Master's and hoping the world of Fine Photography would soon discover my talents and demand that I allow publishers to produce expensive books of my photographs while I traveled from museum to museum in the company of successions of admiring young women. Oddly, all these many years later, I've begun to doubt that it might ever happen or if I would even find it that satisfying anymore. I still feel a certain obligation to at least indulge it for a while should the opportunity present itself.

My co-scholars, depicted here, have also moved on to careers unknown. I'm guessing most might have taught or somehow found some use of their degrees, if they even got them, but I can also imagine that they might have eventually relented to family requests to join a family business or divert their effort toward something totally unrelated to their studies.
I'm sure that most likely, their social skills remained as finely tuned as they were during this summer when there was one night in particular when I drove in from Dallas again with a couple of cases of canned Coors to ice down. And we drank as we stomped our feet on the dusty wooden floor of an old house and sang along while Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys played "San Antonio Rose" far into the night and the next morning.

Artist Dub Brock with the upright piano painted with a scene of Aretha Franklin
floating down the Nile in a '60-something Chrysler Imperial

Pet Portraits



"Sweet Thing"



This is one of my favorite formal pet portraits. This kitten seemed to sense I was looking at something special about her and was attentive to calm, subtle coaxing.










"Honey"





This little puppy is Honey, a sweetheart, who I'm sure knew very well that all she had to do was sit and be pretty. When I first began photographing pets, I thought they were just curious about what I was doing with my camera, but after awhile, I'm convinced that they understand that I'm considering the way they look.





"Noah"



This guy is every bit an English Bulldog, but not so tough. When his owner brought him in he wasn't the least bit nervous; it was as though he might have asked her to bring him in for his portrait. This off-camera glance instills a certain masculine formality befiting his nobility.

Betty Virginia Park

A panorama of the open area of Betty Virginia Park on a recent Sunday. Sadly, the grass has lost its summery bright green color. I'd hoped to find more people out enjoying the day, but I suppose there are a number of important football games being broadcast about this time of day.

Transfer Direction

I often explore little nooks and crannies of town and despite having lived here most of my life, I still occasionally discover something I haven't seen before. I've probably driven past this pair of signs hundreds of times, but this day, I slowed and looked up for the name of the street and had to pull over and stop because I was laughing so hard; the pertinence of it nudging me sharply into convulsions of laughter and delight.

Legacy of Cotton Fields Back Home

For those compelled to read meanings into images, this should be pretty easy to interpret. A huge expanse of sky over Louisiana farmland, bisected by a two-lane road flanked by a single, solitary tree and small, deserted sharecropper's shack on one side and miles of towering telephone poles on the other that might bring to mind the imposing dominance of technology over disappearing traditional agricultural economies of the past. I didn't capture this image reading the whole set of metaphors, but rather a more practical use in mind; reference while scouting locations for scenes in a film (the Great Debaters). I was affected by the starkness of the single house and tree miles from anything urban—the kind of place where I'd want to live. It was later that the imposing dominance of those poles made themselves elemental to the composition and I recognized their significance in statements about rural tradition and progress, etc. I can't remember a time without transmission lines of some sort, but I can remember when there were more telephone lines. It's easy for me to romanticize a scene without them, in which I'm driving a wagon down this long road through the wide expanse of fields.

Bodcau at La. Hwy. 2

When I see places like this, I'm reminded of the early Spanish and French explorers making their way through the Louisiana swamps, how strange it must have been to be approached by aboriginal hominids and trying to establish a means of exchanging information about directions, food and just what you're doing in the area in the first place. Most of the various tribes weren't immediately hostile to newcomers, as such encounters were often welcome opportunities for trade.

Backyard Louisiana Flood

Looking for another image tonight, I happened to glance into a folder of local birds I'd shot a couple of years ago. There are many pictures of this type out there now, but this one of mine that's particularly pleasant. It's easy to imagine the quiet  and calm of this place with egrets flying in to wade quietly looking for a meal of small fish.

La Casa de Cabras Felices

Just a few years back, while scouting locations about 30 miles out of Shreveport, a property owner showed me this old sharecropper's cabin his dad and uncle had moved piece by piece to this location from elsewhere on their farm. For someone as reclusive as me, this place offers unlimited charm, from the lowslung wooden porch, corrugated roof and bare, weathered wood exterior to the interior walls of discarded hardwood flooring throughout. Featuring electricity, well water, pond and large whispering pines, this place has appealed to me from the moment we drove up, I got out of my truck and stepped into pure, organic silence interupted only briefly by the low sound of a cow lowing far in the distance.





Ancient Geologic Residue




Tiny Stranger (3 x 2.5 cm)

 Rummaging through a pile of things accumulated over a while and started to set this rock aside again, but stopped, trying to remember where I picked it up. My first guess is that I might have found it the last time I went out scouting while waiting for a property owner to meet with a film producer and production designer.
I've gotten into the habit of looking for interesting rocks whenever I'm outside waiting for a client. Usually what catches my eye is an unusually pure blue, red or black one, a stone with stripes, uniformly round or clear quartz. Most of those I've accumulated are of long forgotten origins.
I'm not a geologist, so I can't say much about it. The surface is textured such that that it could a piece of coral. I've examined the surface with a loupe and found no patterns anywhere. There is one interuption of its curvature by a small round, raised area, but that offers no clue either.
It doesn't matter what it is or where I got it. For a while it belongs to me. It's unlikely that whomever might one day search through my things will see it and think, "I want this." Most likely, without me, it'll be added back to the Earth, but for now, this finely rounded lump of whatever is one of my little priceless pets.

a little local color

I'd love to find one of these little red trees somewhere by itself so I could add it to my collection.

This is just a very mundane image of a few leaves and the sky, but as much as any scenic, a simple view like this can elicit memories of a number of places.

Shame on me...

I started this with best intentions and actually did okay for a short while, but as with most anything, my attention drifted to things more relevant to survival or business (or both). I wanted this to be apart from commerce; and fully intended to devote time to it for my own enjoyment.

Well, I blew it, but I'm back around, having time on my hands again. Maybe I'll make it a habit this time (right along with meditating, positivity, walking, healthy food and normal hours!). Wish me luck—I'll need it!

In the interest of keep things brief, this picture is simply an addtion to my Tree Series and it's a beauty. Makes me feel guilty about eating broccoli...

Favorite Trees

This is the first of a series I've considered for quite some time, doing with trees what I did with the "Botanicals" series, local lilies and irises found scattered about Shreveport's "Highland" neighborhood yards.

"Trees" preceeded the other series conceptually, already a serious consideration for years and only just recently becoming practical. This specimen stands in a lawn aside Fairfield Avenue, to the east a few blocks south of Kings Highway. For most of the year, it's totally unremarkable; no different from any other tree in the area, but as I drove along one October day, I was struck immediately by the bright hue its leaves had taken with the onset of cooler weather. A few blocks past, I realized that those leaves might not last, and that I'd let too many opportunities pass already, so I took a turn and made my way back to find a good place to shoot it. I wound up having to drive by several times comparing angles, only to realize that the light through the overcast wouldn't allow what I'd hoped for. Faced with this, I drove off on my way as before, except that only moments later, there came a break in the clouds as though I'd been called back. I knew my position and drove back, grabbed the camera, except that now, breaks in the clouds altered back an forth, opening and closing the almost beam-like illumination on the bright yellow leaves I was hoping to capture. Finally, for a moment, the clouds, the color of leaves and angle of the sun all offered subtle contributions, allowing the first portrait for my series of trees.

At age twenty-two, stocking shelves in the back of a office supply store, some days after work, I would race to a pond hidden in the woods outside of town to relax for a little while floating around just before sunset as the air began to cool, not realizing there'd be many days in the future when I'd wish I could return.

These pears sat on the table one bright day, silhouetted against the kitchen window and the red clay drive in front of the house. Those days, I sometimes paged through a Thesaurus playing with words and phrases, then I typed them up as poetry. I aspired to produce series' of signed, numbered fine prints for sale from a catalog, esteemed and sold by galleries and decorators. I had only to be discovered by someone magically overwhelmed and capable of recognizing the marketing opportunity my work presented. Apparently, there are lots of other artists with the same idea...

An overheated van provided an ecology lesson at the expense of this poor mockingbird. My lemon of a van was once again behaving strangely, so I added more anti-freeze, hoping to forestall another blown head gasket. I happened to spill a tiny amount and quickly went inside for a bucket of water to rinse or at least, dilute it. I'd read that it can poison some animals unable to tell the difference from water. Delayed by a phone call, I returned with the water to find that already, this mockingbird's thirst had brought him to sip some of the chemical under the van and quickly die on the sidewalk just outside my studio door, some of the fluid still draining from his beak—all this in less than five minutes.
As I stood there saddened, it was easy to recognize that this abrupt experience profoundly emphasized the impact a common, seemingly benign substance has on our surroundings. Obviously, I'm much less casual about my impact now; reminded to remain so whenever I see or hear a mockingbird. I photographed it to make sure I could pass this lesson along to others. Poor fragile, innocent little being.

Anytime I'm driving and see an old barn like this, I tend to drift off to times when there were more of these and more kids visited their grandparent's farm weekends and summers to wander through the woods and pastures, discovering insects, plants and animals living there. I was lucky enough to have had access to acres of farmland that was also my own park, zoo, frontier or lost world. We could wade in the streams and ponds, climb trees and swing on vines as happy as a kid can be miles from adults and their unfun stuff. We were always mindful that an interruption could be announced at anytime by the distant sound of my grandmother's car horn calling us back up to the house.

In keeping with the original intention of this blog, I'm continuing to wander through my image archives and present whatever might provide for interesting comment whenever I'm inspired so. This image, I found quite unexpectedly among scans of ancient transparencies. This was shot around 1974, while I was still working on my degree. All my color pictures at that time were on Agfachrome, a fine German-made film sold with prepaid processing envelopes to mail it in for processing. It was beautiful film. I was also experimenting with soft focus using an assortment of crude lenses. This image was shot with a standard magnifying lens attached to a bellows extension on a 35mm body. If you're familiar with David Hamilton's photo books of young women, you can see the influence. Other images from the session with this model also make use of this softened detail and muted colors. I was able to work with her on just a couple of occasions and had hoped to do more others, but I lost track of her. I saw her about ten years later shopping in a store where I was shooting a catalog, but couldn't take the time to speak to her and I haven't seen her since. It'd be nice to hear from Susan after all this time.