Cold is a State of Mind

Another photographer once gave me the following advice: “When you see a beautiful sunset, turn around and shoot in the opposite direction.”

Winter makes for wonderful sunsets, and photography. The air, devoid of humidity, is clear and the colors can be spectacular. I braved the freezing temperatures yesterday afternoon to follow this advice, and to attempt something I rarely do: capture scenic, landscape/cityscape photos of my town, Asheville, NC. The light was beautiful, clouds hung in the sky, and somehow my frozen fingers managed to operate the controls on my camera, for a few minutes.

Here is a shot of some of the downtown buildings:

And another, facing North, of the Grove Park Inn and North Asheville:

Looking for Layers

When critiquing my portfolio recently, a photo editor commented that I should try to create more “layers” in my images. “Engage yourself, and by extension your viewer, in the scene,” he advised. He showed me some images that had run in his magazine and pointed out the specific differences between them and my more staid, distant shots.

I left that meeting feeling excited. The advice was excellent … although, I soon discovered, not the easiest to follow. Creating images with layers is challenging – it requires keen mental alertness and presence, the ability to see beyond the obvious, and a periodic stroke of good luck and timing.

Last night my camera and I attended a Vaudeville/Burlesque show. I started firing away from the start. The performers’ costumes and antics were sensational; it was hard to resist focusing on them.

But, I realized part way through the evening, the audience was contributing as much to the experience as the performers. To really bring the hilarious, energetic atmosphere of the show through in my images, I was going to have to change my perspective.

So I left my seat, moved over to the side of the stage, crouched down on the ground and aimed my camera back toward the crowd.

This shot was one of those I managed to create. It isn’t great. I could have employed other tactics that would have yielded better results – I should have fired my shutter continuously, and fast. I could have added flash for more drama. (I experimented with the latter, but the results were garish – attributable, I am certain, to the fact that I haven’t yet internalized the methods for using my external flash in tricky lighting situations). Nonetheless, this image and others did achieve the multi-layered composition I was aiming for.

Straight-on photographs, as I am now beginning to grasp, are relatively easy to create. Sometimes, even often, they work. But the approach of consciously trying to find layers in a scene is already improving my ability to envision and produce images that look and feel dynamic and that, as a result, stand out.

Now, how to make engaging images that also generate income? That is much more daunting. But I’m working on it…

Mexico, Part III: Death in the City

Ever since I learned about it in my junior high Spanish class, Mexico’s Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) holiday has intrigued me. I longed to experience it. And as a photographer, my interest intensified – I knew the colorful celebration would provide plentiful opportunities for image making.

Coverage of Day of the Dead has been [insert preemptive eye roll] “done” to death by American photographers in the popular destinations of Oaxaca and San Miguel de Allende. I was seeking something different. When offered the opportunity to visit and stay with a client in Mexico City this year, I jumped.

A man in traditional costume performs an ancient Aztec "soul cleaning" ritual as part of the Day of the Dead festivities in Mexico City's Zócalo, or main plaza.

In this collection of images I have attempted to portray the breadth of the event as it is celebrated in the “D.F.” (as locals call the city), from the simple altars erected in homes to the grand productions in the city’s historic center.

Unfortunately, one experience I had been hoping for eluded me — witnessing a midnight vigil in a cemetery. In Mexico City, I learned, cemeteries rarely remain open at night these days. And I was probably wise to resist the temptation to sneak in to one to photograph the graveside altars. I’ll save that adventure for another year… (just kidding mom).

CLICK HERE to view the images.

Mexico, Part II: From Root to Sip

There is a saying in Oaxaca: “Para todo mal…mezcal. Para todo bien…tambien.” [For everything bad…mezcal. For everything good…as well.]

Fermented from the Maguey (or Agave) plant, mezcal is akin to Tequila, the latter being similar to Champagne in that it can only be called such if it is produced in a particular region, Jalisco, Mexico, and from a particular varietal, the Blue Agave.

Real Minero is a small, artisan mezcal producer located in the Ocotlan district of Oaxaca. Last month I was fortunate to have the opportunity to visit the facility and witness nearly every step of the production process – from harvesting the fruit of the Maguey to distillation.

The care and devotion with which the employees at Real Minero focus on crafting their product was evident in every step of the process. Everything is done the slow way, mostly by hand and according to ancient traditions. “Other companies use metal containers to distill their mezcal,” explained the company’s owner, “and that comes through in the taste.”

The company is also intent on preserving the region’s ecology. Rather than resorting to monoculture, Real Minero utilizes organic techniques to cultivate a wide range of Maguey species, many of which are scarce and even nearing extinction. This is no easy charge, as some varietals require fifteen to twenty five years to mature.

Each varietal of the plant yields an entirely distinct flavor and smell – in its cooked flesh as well as the final distilled mezcal. Like fine wine, mezcal is meant to be savored; it is not imbibed to get drunk. (For locals accustomed to its potency, that is. I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little light headed on occasion.)

CLICK HERE to view my series of images of the mezcal production at Real Minero.

Mexico, Part I: Where There’s a Well

The cracked and parched earth spanned out before us—barren hillsides spreading for miles where twenty years ago forest thrived. “It makes you wonder,” I mused out loud, “who cut down the last tree?”

This tragedy has been repeated many times—in Haiti, in Australia and here in rural Oaxaca, Mexico. People cut timber for their livelihood—to sell, to burn for heat and cooking. And they cut it too fast. Once the trees are gone the topsoil erodes leaving the land nutrient deprived and incapable of regeneration.

Most view this type of situation as insurmountable. In his small corner of the world, however, Eduardo Angelino has refused to concede defeat. Angelino, a business owner and father of two, has spearheaded an ambitious effort to reforest the area surrounding his hometown of Santa Catarina Minas. He and a crew of volunteers are working diligently (and with impressive expertise) to cultivate native seedlings and re-plant the expansive terrain.

A genuine desire to protect and restore the ecosystem is part of the effort’s impetus, but the motivation runs much deeper. By reinstating the forests, Angelino is hoping to ensure a sustainable future for his community. He wants people to stay (emigration from the town has been increasing steadily in recent years). And he has wisely identified transformation of the desolate landscape as a crucial step in establishing a foundation for this vision.

In this arid, high desert climate, water (or lack thereof) poses a particularly acute challenge to the project. To mitigate the problem, his group has devised a system of reservoirs and wells. With each hillside planting, the team digs troughs beside each sapling (the troughs, ironically, resemble grave sites) which volunteers periodically fill with water from the reservoirs to satiate the young trees in their vulnerable state.

Angelino and his crew welcome support from abroad for their reforestation project—in the form of financial contributions of course but volunteers are also invited to join in the effort. Through PEI, a non-profit organization based in Mexico City, individuals and groups can visit Santa Catarina Minas and help plant seedlings and distribute water.

Despite the difficulties they face, Angelino and his team seem determined to persist. Their endeavor serves as an example of how local action can correlate to global benefit, especially in the environmental arena, and of how individuals, given the motivation and tenacity, truly can make an impact.

CLICK HERE to view a photo story, with captions, about the project.

Mexico, in Three Acts

I traveled to Mexico this past month with the primary purpose of witnessing and photographing the Day of the Dead (DOTD) festivities in Mexico City. That experience proved as unforgettable as it was visually stimulating. But it turned out to be a spontaneous sojourn into remote reaches of the country that added the layer of depth I had been seeking.

Over the next few weeks I will post three series of photographs that explore stories I encountered: of DOTD of course, of a reforestation project in rural Oaxaca, and of an artisan mezcal production enterprise.

Each story offers a glimpse of an element of Mexican tradition and culture that runs deep. And each connects to a universal theme – people, reaching into their past for meaning and finding ways to apply it and make it relevant in their current world.

On the whole my trip comprised, as travel so often does, a mixed bag of experiences.  It was thrilling and fun, and also challenging. It provided moments of frustration, and moments of inspiration. Above all, it served to remind me of an overarching lesson: there is something to be learned everywhere, from everyone. You just need to be open.

Another lesson: there is much more to Mexico than the stories of violence that dominate currently in the American and European media. In one word: GO.

Inside a market in Oaxaca city

Mexico in Black and White

I spent the better part of this past month traveling and photographing in Mexico.  I found many distinct stories during my trip, or rather they found me. But one of the prominent notes that struck me throughout was the sharpness of the contrasts I encountered – both literal and figurative. From the desert landscapes to the coexistence of poverty and affluence. These images, most captured in the state of Oaxaca, are presented in black and white to convey that pervading sense of disparity, and of harshness.

CLICK HERE to view the images, on my website.

Making Light of Death

A skeleton mariachi band (click to enlarge)

“At every Mexican funeral, you will hear someone laughing loudly,” divulged my dining companion and hostess for this week, which I am spending in Mexico City to experience the Dia de los Muertos festivities. “Because we are afraid of death,” she continued, “we have to make light of it.”

And laugh they do. In the days leading up to the celebration, which officially takes place November 2nd, death, in the form of skeleton figures of all shapes, sizes and materials, consumes the streets and spaces of this city of twenty million. Market stalls are stocked with rows and rows of chocolate skulls. Residence walls are festooned with colorful tissue paper cutouts (think paper snowflakes) depicting skeletons, costumed and reveling with food and drink. Vendors on every street corner hawk intricately crafted figurines of skeletons performing all manner of human activities — from getting their teeth cleaned at the dentist, to baking bread, to pole dancing. Yes, pole dancing.

In the city’s main square yesterday I marveled over a ten foot by ten foot miniature carnival scene constructed entirely of paper mache — complete with ferris wheel, carnival games, and merry-go-round with skeleton horses. As I stood admiring the handiwork, an unassuming older Mexican man standing next to me turned and casually inquired, “Tiene usted miedo del muerte?” [Are you afraid of death?] I hesitated a few moments before replying with a smile and a simple “no.” Though then I backtracked a little and qualified my seemingly bold statement.

I do fear dying — of course I don’t want to die. I love life, even given all its complexities and inherent suffering. But death is going to happen — to me, to everyone. And I believe it is important to look this fact squarely in the center of its hollowed-out eyes. Otherwise one can all too easily grow complacent and begin to take life, and the finite time we have to enjoy it, for granted.

I can hardly pretend to comprehend Dia de los Muertos. There is a lot more to the tradition than merely a lighthearted confrontation of death. I will be processing this experience long after I leave these skeleton-colonized streets. Nonetheless, next year (assuming I am at home and not in Mexico again) I plan on pulling out the trinkets I have purchased this week — the string of paper skeletons, the skull necklace, and yes, the miniature pole dancer. And I will lift a glass of wine (or more appropriately, tequila) … and laugh.

Floating on (Hot) Air

It's a Bird...! (click image to enlarge)

“Above all, please refrain from wearing hairspray. Or polyester of any sort,” admonished (to paraphrase) the release waiver I was signing at 11:30pm last Thursday night.

Friday was my birthday – my thirty-third.  In my typical style I had planned an adventure – completely last minute.   When searching the web the day before for potential sunrise hike locations, a website promoting sunrise hot air balloon rides popped into view.  I was sold, instantly.  (And pleased to finally encounter a situation where Google’s randomness proved a boon.)

I called the company, Asheville Hot Air Balloons, and lucked out.  The one scheduled passenger balloon was full, but I was invited to tag along on a pilot training run.

My fare paid, I started reading through the waiver.  Beyond the expected legal jargon, a few tidbits made me sit up a little straighter.  For example, “Passengers must be prepared for the possibility of the pilot becoming incapacitated during the flight or landing.”  But despite the warnings of potential death by flame, falling, explosion or being impaled by a tree limb, I couldn’t wait for liftoff.

On my predawn arrival at the launch site I immediately became consumed with photographing.  The two colorful balloons filling with air, the wicker baskets – it all made for unparalleled image-making fodder.

After boarding the basket I crouched down for a few minutes to clean and change my lenses, then stood up and gasped – we were already 100 feet in the air.  I hadn’t noticed a thing.

My pilot “Chief,” who with a straight face laid claim to having served as a balloon fighter pilot in World War II, navigated and narrated with flight anecdotes.  Thankfully he saved the semi-horror stories for after we had landed.

A view from the air (click image to enlarge)

We soared above the early morning clouds that blanketed Asheville and the surrounding mountains. The ride itself was smooth and tranquil, but for the periodic blowtorch bursts from two feet above my (thankfully un-hairsprayed) head.

Then we flew low, almost into the trees.  We trailed over neighborhoods, inciting every dog within a three-block radius to frenetic barking (the balloon’s motor emits a high pitched sound imperceptible to humans, but which drives animals crazy).  We waved at people drinking coffee on front porches and Chief called out to them as if he knew them, “Hope we didn’t wake you!”

Back on the ground after landing delicately, though quite unromantically, in a restaurant parking lot, I climbed out of the basket with a contented sigh.

I am looking forward to my 34th year of life, and I wonder what adventure lies in store for me next August 6th.  Floating above the clouds below an open flame was tremendous fun, but I have a feeling I am just warming up.

People Aren’t So Bad After All

Photographing people when traveling has long been one of those “eat your vegetables” things for me.  I know it makes for more memorable and compelling images.  And I know it’s something I need to get very comfortable with if I have any hope of working in the field professionally.  I also really do enjoy meeting people when I travel.  But the idea of asking someone if I can photograph him or her arouses in me a trepidation that even the soggiest brussel sprout can’t match.

This past week I participated in a travel photography workshop in New Mexico with Santa Fe Workshops.  The course was taught by renowned photographer Nevada Wier, whom I admire not only for her work but also because of the career she has crafted for herself in an industry that is male dominated and in a world that is still, on the whole, patriarchal.  But that’s another blog post.

Throughout the week Nevada gave our class assignments that involved photographing everyday people as well as encouragement and suggestions.  My confidence built steadily and along the way I even managed to create a couple of halfway decent people-centric images.

On my post-workshop drive home across the country I decided to challenge myself to photograph people in the places I stopped.  And so far (granted, I’ve only made it to Texas) I’ve surprised myself by not only meeting the challenge but thoroughly enjoying it.

I have at least one thing going for me, I’ve realized: I love to smile and laugh.  That is genuine.  And, it turns out, infectious.

Yesterday evening I stopped at a Whataburger in Amarillo for (naturally) a burger but also because I loved the retro signage and fantastic geometry of the building.  After snapping a few frames of the façade I noticed a couple of diners staring at me inquisitively through the front door.

I walked inside the restaurant, gave the couple a huge smile and struck up a conversation.  They were incredibly friendly and the man’s booming laugh clued me in that they might be amenable to some fun model work.  I asked if they would be willing to be in some of my images and they enthusiastically agreed.  “What should we do?” they asked.  I suggested they walk out the door several times and “do something fun.”

On the second pass, the man threw his arm in the air with a hilarious flourish and walked the opposite direction of his wife.  On the third he grabbed her, gave her a passionate smooch and they both lifted their legs a la Eisenstaedt’s nurse.

Unfortunately, as I was not armed with model releases, I won’t be getting any rights purchase offers from Whataburger.  But that prospect was far from the point of my self-assignment.  The images aren’t valuable anyway.  The practice, however, was priceless.