For years, I’ve talked about the evolution of making a cohesive body of work—communicating a strong, solid narrative with photographs that support the narrative. I’ve tried to communicate how important it is to have a plan, how plans change, and how to adapt and move forward.
It’s important to know when you are “on course.” The course changes all the time; it’s a moving target until it isn’t. I’ve emphasized self-examination, authenticity, and honesty. That’s how you find the target and move with it until it stops and you hit the mark.
Of course, everyone is different. We struggle and fight with certain problems in different ways. And sometimes, what one person perceives as a problem, the other person embraces as a supporting element. It’s much harder to do this than it seems. The evidence is that very few people do it, and even fewer are really successful at it. For me, these ideas are at the core of making art, and I’m always working toward them.
The winter is ending here in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado (finally!). It’s been long and cold. The good part about that is that it’s given me a lot of time to write, research, and think. I’ve realized that making images constantly (all year long) might not be a good thing for me. I need a pause. I need time to evaluate, to ponder, and to deeply think about what I want to do and what I’m actually doing. I used to believe the work “revealed” itself as you made it, and you adjusted from there. That’s somewhat true, but you have to have something to evaluate it with—a matrix of some kind. Without that, you’re simply making “pretty, chocolate-box pictures,” again lost somewhere between the commercial world and the derivative or technical world. If your goal is fine art, those are not places you want to be.
I’ve had several changes over the past 18 months on my project, “In the Shadow of Sun Mountain: The Psychology of Othering and the Origins of Evil.” It started as a look at the Tabeguache-Utes that once occupied the land I live on, visually representing their land and their history. Then it evolved into a closer look at the events that drove them off of their lands and into prisoner of war camps (aka reservations). And now, it’s a full-on examination of the role of death anxiety and terror management theory—an examination of how these theories have driven human behavior and what it did to the Tabeguache-Ute and all of the other people throughout history that've suffered atrocities.
Ernest Becker was a cultural anthropologist and author who wrote extensively on the human condition and the nature of evil. According to Becker, the cause of evil in the world is rooted in the human condition itself. He believed that human beings are uniquely aware of their own mortality, which creates a fundamental sense of anxiety and dread. To cope with this anxiety, individuals create symbolic systems of meaning, such as religion and culture, which provide a sense of purpose and significance to repress existential terror (death anxiety). However, these symbolic systems can also lead to conflict and violence as individuals and groups become attached to their own particular worldview and seek to defend it at all costs. This can result in acts of aggression, oppression, and even genocide. That’s where I’ve been for a while with this work.
And now, the project takes another step toward its final form. Several months ago, I purchased a nice (French) watercolor set from an art store. I wanted to incorporate two things into the photographs: a painterly look and the beauty of this place, as abstract as that may be.
In reality, I’m more interested in revealing and celebrating the beauty here than anything else. I’ve always said, “I’m a frustrated painter.” And the idea of a painting—pre-photography—is appealing. A painting is a one-off, meaning it can’t be reproduced (copied, yes, but never another original). I’ve always embraced that about tintypes and ambrotypes. There is something very intriguing about having “only one”—a lot like human beings themselves, there is only one of you! That’s a wonderful and beautiful thing.
I’ve always liked a quote from the movie Beware of Images: "We live in an age of hyper-reality, where the authentic is gradually being eclipsed by its endless representations, where every new layer of mediation stands between us and the natural world, where forgeries have so viciously attacked the original that they now reign victorious in its place, and as the forgeries themselves are relentlessly replicated, we are left with infinite simulations of that which never existed." I can relate to this idea on many different levels. Look at AI, social media, etc. We’re in an Orwellian nightmare when it comes to this topic and how it’s affecting art and authenticity.
So, I want to incorporate color into this work. I was looking at some of my flora (plants) prints and lamented that the beautiful colors of the bright yellow Sneezeweed, the white-purple Slender Tube Skyrocket, the bright red of the Prairie-Fire, and the vivid purple of the Rocky Mountain Geranium weren’t there. It felt wrong. The landscapes here are gorgeous, but a lot of the time the wet and dry plate processes simply don’t capture that, nor do the paper negative or POP processes. They are beautiful in their own way, but I feel like I’m after something else.
“Blue Grama Grass (Dead)” 10” x 10” (25,4 x 25,4 cm), RA-4 Color Reversal Print an in-camera direct-positive made with an 1874 Derogy Petzval lens. April 7, 2023
Here I am with a watercolor set and POP prints. That won’t work either. It takes a skill set that I don’t possess. Maybe one day, but not for this. Now what?
In 1993, I had my first photographic exhibition. I transferred about 25 Polaroid pictures (manipulated) onto 6x6 and 8x8 cotton and linen paper; each photograph was accompanied by a poem communicating something about the human condition and the paradox of existence and consciousness.
The colors were crazy and worked very well for the narrative. The show was called “Visions in Mortality.” I wrote a lot about it in my new book because the influence of that show is affecting this work in a major way.
Now, over 30 years later, here I am again, asking questions about mortality and feeling nostalgic. This desire goes far beyond my connection with the original work in 1992. I want the elements in this work to esteem this place, to lift it up, and to show how beautiful it is—the only way I feel that can be accomplished is through color prints.
I dug in my quiver and found an arrow that points me back 30 years, back to my days in undergraduate school and processing reversal film (E-6), C-41, Cibachrome printing, and making C-Prints. It rang true for me to get back in the saddle and work this out.
Another thing that really pushed me toward this was after I watched Nan Goldin’s documentary, "All the Beauty and All the Bloodshed." The work of Goldin, Eggleston, and Samaras has had a big influence on me. Their work and style will be apparent in what I’m doing, but with my signature.
I’ve started making RA-4 reversal prints—color direct-positive prints. These are 10” x 10” (25.4 x 25.4 cm) and made with a Petzval lens. I have to color-correct, of course. The paper is tungsten-balanced (3200K), and I’m making images in 5600K–6000K+. There’s a learning curve, and nothing ever seems to be consistent. Oddly enough, I kind of like that. I want some serendipity in all of it; I’m not a machine, and I don’t want this work to look like a machine made it.
The technical isn’t important at this point, and I won’t be sharing a lot of the images, but I wanted to share what the evolution of this project looked like almost two years into it. And I might even offer to not think of yourself as “married” to a certain process or even photography itself. Allow the narrative to drive and support the medium.
Color photography has the power to convey a wide range of emotions and moods, as well as the beauty and complexity of the world around us. While black and white, or historic processes, have a classic and timeless appeal, the use of color can add an extra dimension of creativity and expression to a photographic work.
One way to think about the creative use of color in photography is to consider how different hues can be used to create a sense of mood or atmosphere. For example, warm colors like reds, yellows, and oranges can create a sense of energy and excitement, while cooler colors like blues and greens can evoke a feeling of calm and tranquility. By playing with the balance of colors in a photograph, an artist can create a sense of tension, harmony, or contrast that can add depth and meaning to the work. In other words, there is a lot to play with when using color. A wider palette of visual opportunities
Another way to think about color in photography is to consider how it can be used to draw attention to certain elements or aspects of the image. By using a bold or contrasting color in a particular area of the photograph, an artist can create a focal point that draws the viewer's eye and adds emphasis to that part of the composition. This can be especially effective when combined with other creative techniques, such as selective focus or composition, to create a sense of depth and perspective.
Overall, the creative use of color in photography can be a powerful tool for an artist looking to express themselves and capture the beauty and complexity of the world around them. By experimenting with different hues, tones, and shades and considering how color can be used to create mood, emphasis, and depth, an artist can create stunning work that's both beautiful and meaningful.
