Yesterday I finally started unpacking. First the camera equipment. After a few hours, I finally got my studio pretty much reassembled. It’s amazing to think that I hauled that equipment around all week, setting it up and breaking it down each day. Next, I began to carefully unpack my box of treasures. While walking around the blazing-hot grounds of Miraval, I constantly collected subjects to photograph — twigs, seeds, pods, leaves, etc.. Whenever we’d go for a walk, I’d always fall behind, dropping down to my knees to examine a small plant on the side of the path, then taking off my hat (probably not smart in the 105° heat) to gently carry them home.

Desert plants are amazing things. First of all, they have the best names: pineleaf milkweed, cassia, rain lily, cat claw acacia, snakeweed, hopbush, spectacle pod, monks pepper leaf (thanks to Miraval’s horticulturalist Corey for helping me put a name to everything). These plants have evolved to flourish in such harsh conditions. I loved how the pods and flowers at the ends of their branches and leaves would bake dry in the heat and fall to the ground, shattering to scatter the seeds. This makes them wonderfully complex things to photograph, but at the same time, challenging things to transport across the country without damaging.

My wife and I were really careful about packing these things up, wrapping everything in tissue borrowed from the giftshop, and packed in a box in our carryon luggage. I was nervous because these super-dried plants are so brittle and fragile. But as I unfolded the tissue and untangled the twigs and leaves, I was relieved to find that everything arrived home safely. Now to photograph these, and hopefully create a new series of work inspired by my time at Miraval.

P.S. You should follow me on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook.

home from Miraval

Seeing the full range, depth, and beauty of her abstract work in person helped me better understand the importance of her style and its influence on my art. I am able to now see a clear connection to my own work. When I walked up to this painting, Series I—No. I, which I had never seen before, I was blown away by its resemblance to a piece I created from a sunflower just this summer:

Georgia O’Keeffe, Series I—No. I, 1918

Flow by Daniel Sroka, 2009

Even though I had never directly seen this abstract painting of hers before, I had absorbed her primary lessons in shape and form from the rest of her paintings. Without directly realizing it, she has been my mentor all along.

One other thing I find interesting is that we have reversed our approach to abstracation and nature. She started working with abstraction, and later used that knowledge to craft her vision of nature. Whereas I started creating more representational images of nature, but over time have been abstracting them down further and further. I now feel I am most successful with a photograph when the original nature of the subject disappears, and you are left with a simpler expression of its true nature, its physicality and dynamism.

P.S. You should follow me on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook.

Me and Georgia O’Keeffe

I just returned from this year’s Armory Show. Wow, that place is crazy. An overwhelmingly huge warehouse of identical white cubes stuffed with art. It’s a gallery on steroids. And beside my very sore feet, I also managed to find some fascinating and beautiful work among all of the cacophony. Here are some of the artists that really stood out for me.

• Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison had one piece from their series Counterpoint. This deceptively simple work caught my eye from way across the hall and sucked me in. As always, their work dazzles and inspires me.
• Hitoshi Kuriyama’s abstract splotches of color. As I looked at it, the gallerist’s first words to me were: “You’re an artist?” Sheesh, did my mock turtleneck give me away?
• Moyra Davey’s Copperhead series: macro photographs of corroded pennies (ah, right up my alley!)
• Paul Graham’s elegiac photographs of remote gas stations
• Todd Hido’s haunting landscapes. The guy’s got mad skills.
• The Starn Brother’s Attracted to Light: I’ve seen this image so many times, I almost walked right past it. But in person, it’s delicacy is note-perfect.
• Michael Eastman’s Shotgun House: simple yet powerful composition. Shows the power of straight on “pure” photography.
• Michael Wolf’s Architecture of Density. Simply mesmerizing.
• Catherine Murphy’s charming paintings of wood knots
• Ola Kolehmainen’s beautiful abstractions
• Myoung Ho Lee’s series of photos of trees isolated from their environment.

Of course, in addition to all this good stuff, the Armory also had a lot of art that was, well, less good. So many booths seemed to be filled with art that was trying so hard to be so darn “clever.” Trying desperately to push the same buttons that have been pushed over and over again. The same tired visual jokes, the same snarky comments about our culture (We’re very consumer-oriented? You don’t say!), the same political symbols (one piece had a zombie Uncle Sam in it. Seriously. What is this, art school?) Whatever. I’m glad I was able to quickly tune this noise out, and push on to all of the good stuff.

Of course, my favorite thing at the show wasn’t a work of art at all. It was this one lone window, squeezed between two booths. that looked out over the harbor. After being so overstimulated, it was an amazingly calm and poignant moment. The small group of people gathered with me, looking out at the water with quiet smiles on their faces, seemed to agree.

P.S. You should follow me on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook.

Favorite picks from The Armory Show

But then, I finally went for my first visit. And was blown away by the staggering beauty of the place. It really is just that special. Being there helped me see Ansel’s work with fresh eyes, and appreciate his ability to express the soul of the valley. It also made me understand why so many people attempt to copy his style. The beauty of the place demands that you sing its praises. And what better way to sing than with the songs written by a master?

The problem is that when a master executes a vision, it becomes the default way to see that scene. It becomes so ingrained in our way of seeing and understanding that place, it becomes difficult for other artists to break free of the master’s technique and style. But the job of the artist is not to just record the beauty they see, it is to record the emotions that they personally felt while they were seeing. Adoping someone else’s style might at first feel like a natural shorthand, but in the end it is disingenuous to your own personal emotions. You end up parroting the master’s vision and voice, while damping down your own. The goal is to appreciate the master, thank them for showing you the way, while searching for your own voice.

'Old Tree', a macro photograph of a small broken twig masquerading as a mountain scene, was probably one of my first attempts to relate Adams' vision to my own personal style.

(This post was inspired by the post ‘Vivaldi-isation‘ written by Niall Benvie.)

P.S. You should follow me on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook.

Getting past the overly-familiar

Ah, some good news for the middle of the week. I have learned that my photograph “Mask” was nominated in the Abstract catagory for this year’s Photography Masters Cup.

This has always been a favorite photograph of mine. It is an abstract of a fallen leaf that has dried into a tight curl (see the leaf below. And yes, I do save all of the leaves that I photograph!). The photograph was taken from the right side, looking along the length of the leaf. The “eye” of the mask is the small opening right by the stem.

When I was photographing this leaf, I was amazed at how this image of a mask jumped out at me. It literally spooked me, suddenly seeing this half of a face staring at me through the lens.

This is the leaf that the photograph Mask was created from.

P.S. You should follow me on Twitter or become a fan on Facebook.

Named nominee in abstract for Photography Masters Cup