Online Forums: Photography & Social Forums

•2009.01.12 • 1 Comment

I recently heard through the forum grapevine, that JPG Magazine is coming back, and will be changing to the RedBubble model (selling prints and merchandise), as well as continuing to publish the printed magazine.  I had neglected my portfolio and participation there, since the crash in January.

Hence, I have spent the last two or three day/nights removing images from my JPG portfolio.  It takes five steps to delete an image …. more than it takes to upload them! Many hours of concentrated effort went into the removal project, and it just doesn’t seem fair.  When I discovered what a tedious and time-consuming task it was going to be, I told myself that I would do that job in reasonable increments.  But of course, I could not do it that way.  Instead, I tore through there like a backhoe, obliterating whatever did not meet my NEW standards.  It was cathartic to look back and see how much my work has progressed in the past few months — and good to clear away the deadfall. 

I begin to get a glimpse of what fires the celebrities’ ego machines — not to draw a comparison;  I am far down the scale from that — but many of my fellow photogs would agree with me; that the feedback on photography/art forums is addictive.  It is very easy to get caught up in seeking the approval of one’s peers, rather than investing the time and energy into other aspects of the work that grow more corn.  I have been guilty of just adding images for the sake of hearing, “Nice picture!” Thus,

I can’t really complain about all the effort required to dismantle what I, myself, have built.  Now, I will begin replacing those old images – selectively. 

I suppose that most of us on the forums recognize intellectually, that much of the feedback we get there has far more to do with personalities than with skill or talent.  Most frequently, comments are reciprocal courtesy — I compliment yours, you compliment mine; we all get a warm fuzzy and tell ourselves that the recognition is deserved.  The first thing I do in the morning, is check which of my photos has been featured on RedBubble, and look for new comments on my work — on two or three different sites.  This seems as important as coffee in the morning …  and just about as productive as that cup. Now and then, there is a rejection, and that is like somebody has spit in the cream pitcher - even though it usually has more to do with subject matter than image quality. Some days, it may take as long as two hours to respond and reciprocate to all of the comments on my work.  I begin to wonder whether this is time well-spent?  What is the end benefit?

Features and kudos do not translate to sales, or recognition in the broader market.  Maybe warm fuzzies are my current drug of choice. As I become more tolerant to its effects, I require MORE stuff to attain the same effect. Now, I desire sales!

Sales, and publication of the work, are the ultimate validation; the currency that says to me that somebody likes that image well enough to spend their energy in order to take it home with them …. that they like it well enough to want to look at it again and again.

Yesterday, I sold a $4 greeting card. RedBubble gets $3.33; I get 66 cents — and I was thrilled with the arrangement.

Now, in order to get more of that VALIDATION high, I will focus on selling, rather than on verbal feedback from the Mutual Admiration Society.  I will post only images that I would proudly hang on my wall (a few exceptions might apply), and will brashly toss aside the bushel.

Things I need to remember, apart from the delightful social repartee on all the forums I participate on:

RedBubble is for sales. This is my principle vendor gallery, and should contain only my very best work.

JPG is for publication/recognition.  At some point, I lost track of the reality of JPG’s best aspect: publication of works. JPG publishes photographs that fall into line with their themes and features. Images that fit the criteria stand some chance of seeing print. Everything that falls outside those parameters is fluff to generate comments and pats on the back that feed my ego, but not my piggy bank.

PhotoForum is like my old alma mater.  I want to support that site, which taught me so much, and opened so many doors for me. I want to retain my relationships there, and most certainly, when I need HONEST feedback about a piece, this is the place to which I will always return. The benefits of participation on PF are entirely intangible - though not invalid.

Following first-of-the-year revamping, my personal website has become a portal to my RedBubble gallery, from where my long-time clients can peruse – and hopefully, purchase - my latest art works.  I came to realize that, like sharing sites, the PhotoJournal contained a “hook” for me;  inthat I often posted mediocre shots of the day, just because I felt obligated to provide a running inventory — for those repeat visitors that often compliment the site, but seldom buy anything.  I will no longer be publishing that.

I never got the point of Flick’r, and will be deleting most of my images on that site. I just don’t want mediocre stuff lying around on the internet.

Facebook is where my friends and colleagues gather to share personal experiences.  I love Facebook — but it does not grow corn for me, and I am at a loss to understand how so many people have so much time to “work  on my virtual farm”?  That’s not a criticism, but I personally do not choose to invest any of my rare  ”free time” in sending virtual chickens to virtual farms with virtual assets.  Chasing REAL wild horses is a lot more fun than that!

Capricorn seems to be dominant, lately. :D

On The Absurdity Of Racism

•2009.01.12 • 1 Comment

 
 
The historic election of Barack Hussein Obama to the Presidency of the United States of America was heralded by dancing in the streets across the globe. A victory of hope for the entire planet. Proof that my country has at last embraced the ideology it has talked about, but failed to demonstrate, for centuries.
 
Meanwhile, in Backwoods, Idaho, KKK-ville, Alabama, and other radical pockets throughout the U.S., a devastating blow was felt by white supremacists. Sadly, I am related to a couple of these, and hence when encountering these individuals, I have lately been bombarded by expressions of (racial epithet) at every opening.
 
With victory and righteousness now in my corner, I did, for the first time in many years, take a stand on the matter of the “N” word. There was little argument from the offending party. Instead of the heated debate I anticipated, I got a convictionless defense of semantics. (“We have always called them that.”) I confess, I was so prepared for the Moment of Truth, I was disappointed by his lack of defense. There was so much more that I would have liked to say. I decided not to kick the downed man any further.
 
Yet, the debate continues to swirl about in my mind, taking up space and energy that I would as soon direct to more productive matters, and so, I have determined to write it down and get this out of the mental whirligig that I call my brain.
 
I am white. Raised in rural eastern Nevada, my childhood experience with ethnic diversity was limited. The children in my town were mostly of European descent, plus a few Mexican families, a couple of Asians, one family of Native Americans living off the reservation, and, with two children a few years older than I, one family of African Americans. I was never acquainted with them, presumably, due to the age separation. They attended classes with my older brother, but I never heard him mention them, at all.
 
As young children, we knew no differences. Our fathers all worked for the same company, had similar jobs, and –as far as I know — earned the same wages.  We all got along as well as any group of kids going to school together, year after year, and I never knew about racial prejudice until perhaps junior high. By then, relationships among us were well-established, and I don’t think the racism of our parents changed any of that. It didn’t in my case, anyway. One of my best girlfiends was Mexican. I sometimes played with the Paiute girl in my class. Back then, we called them “Indians”, as they also referred to themselves. My first encounter with racial ignorance was when another friend asked her if she didn’t sometimes “… wish you were American?”. 
 
In 1964, the Civil Rights Movement was a faraway news item that bore no relevance to my life out west, at the age of nine. I remember an older relative saying about Dr. Martin Luther King, “It’s that ____ stirring up all the ____’s down South.” 
 
In the late 1970’s I went to the South for the first time. My first day in Houston, as I paddled about in the motel swimming pool, I was approached by a young black man, who spoke to me in a way I thought flirtatious. This frightened me so badly, I got out of the water, ran to my room, double-locked the door, and hid behind closed drapes until morning. I had never spoken with a black person before. Although I spoke with idealism then, I still carried the fear of difference that my parents had impressed upon me.
 
Later, in Louisiana, a group of my co-workers and I went into a fast food place to get lunch. A group of black people were in front of us, and one of my crewmates said quite loudly, “I won’t stand behind a ____!”  I stepped up and took his place. I couldn’t imagine anyone being so blatantly rude. It was one encounter among many that I would witness down there, including myself once being denied medical treatment after a car accident, because I had walked into the ER with a black man — a co-worker of my husband, who had accompanied me because my husband was out of town at the time. (Of course, they never actually SAID that was the reason for sending me to a different facility.)
 
In Texas, I once witnessed a KKK rally. It was one of the most horrifying and shame-inducing displays I have ever seen. Such malicious conduct, under the banner of skin the same color as mine! Revulsion washed over me to the extent that I became physically ill.
 
The incident that had the most profound effect on me came much later, in the 1980’s. I was again working in the oilfield; the only woman among 75 men of diverse ethnicities. One day, it was revealed to me that, before I had come to work there, several of the white crew members had brutally attacked a white woman co-worker, tied her to a tree with cables, and took turns raping her. This was retaliation for her being romantically involved with a black man on the crew. They left her there, naked and battered, to be discovered by her African American lover.
 
The woman took flight that night, never to be heard from again. No charges were ever filed against the rapists. They were reprimanded by upper management, and warned never to repeat any such behavior.
 
After hearing about that incident, my contempt for those men grew to the point that I realized I could not work around such cowardly, vicious people. I would not work for a company with such callous disregard for women, and tolerance for racial hatred and violence. I quit my well-paid job and never looked back.
 
Some people might detect a pattern here. Some people might deduce that all white men are racists. I know that to be untrue, and I also know that bigotry exists in all schisms of society. Black bigots, white bigots, socio-economic bigots are all the same, sharing one common characteristic: Cowardice. They wield their hatred like a shield, to cover their fear of anyone that doesn’t look, dress, act, or think like they do. They assemble in small factions under veils of secrecy and darkness, just as other deviants do. Sometimes, they wear hoods and masks to disguise their identities, because they are unwilling to accept responsibility for their indefensible attitudes. In their most extreme states, they perpetrate violence against the weak and vulnerable. Like the crew members that outnumbered and overwhelmed their female victim, rather than confront the stronger male. Like the Klan sneaks up on isolated victims, outnumbers, overwhelms, terrorizes.
 
One of the things that I so wanted to express to my bigoted relative – whom I know to be an otherwise intelligent, kind, and sensitive individual — was this question: “Why would you willingly associate yourself with terrorists, like the neo-Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan, simply by your use of that offensive word?”
 
My question for racists everywhere: “How can you not realize the damage this attitude will do to the generations of your progeny, if you choose to inflict such socially unacceptable values on them?”  I wonder how they explain to their children that, “We only say that word in the privacy of our home.”?
 
Surely, these parents must, on some level, realize that children endowed with this perception of the world will be socially handicapped by it. Does it never occur to these people that their children might someday grow up and want to leave the compound in Backwoods, Idaho, and that if they do, their attitudes will scar them with unrealistic fear of people, will retard their career achievements, and worse: if their experiences do not negate the racial prejudices they were taught at home, those paranoid ideals will force them to seek out other fear-based groups to immerse themselves in? Do these parents not care that, should their children find a different path — into the truth of America as a grand tapestry of diverse cultural experience — these enlightened ones will come to reject the ones who imposed false and ridiculous beliefs upon them?
 
How do they explain to their children, that they can play with their white cousins, but not with the dark-skinned ones? Except, sometimes, the Polynesian ones, and the Native American ones are acceptable.
 
How would they explain to their aunt, that some of her great grandchildren are better than the other ones, and entitled to better opportunities, because their skin is a lighter tone?
 
I have but one more multi-part question for racists: “What do you people really want, anyway?”
 
Do you really want a segregated nation?
 
If so, would you devise a geographic restructuring of our country?  How would you decide where to put which color? How would you determine exactly what color people really are? Would you demand genetic testing of every individual (That might be risky. How certain are any of us, exactly who our ancestors were?) Maybe you could just have a scaled skin-tone meter. Are eastern Indians black or brown? 
 
Then, unless you go by the Sarah Palin dichotomy, you must realize that we can’t send all the African Americans back to Africa. (Africa is a continent, not a country, Ms. Palin.)  We can’t send them back to their countries of origin, because after so many centuries on American soil, they are too intermixed to ever sort out the DNA.
Alright, then. Let’s give them the South.  Except, of course, the Gulf Coast, which is more suitable for Asians. They’re all fishermen, you know. Just throw the Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese together in one area. They’ll never know the difference.
 
Hispanics can take Southern California and the Southwest, except that those whose genes mark them as South American shall be driven over the border and releasted into Mexico.
 
What about Midde Easterners? Shall we allow them to live, or just slaughter them, cowboys-and-Indians style? Too messy. Just give them the Midwest. 
 
Now, the old melting pot has been boiling for several generations, and we have a lot of mixed race specimens to place. Put them in the Northeast, except of course, New York City should be reserved for the Jews. Native Americans can stay on their reservations, and Polynesians must now return to the Islands. Immigrants should be immediately deported to their birth countries.
 
That leaves the big wide West and Pacific Northwest, plus Alaska, for us Caucasians. Bring them all in! We can develop this Big Empty in no time at all. Of course, we can’t just randomly put all the Whities in one place. They will have to be sorted into subgroups, by religious affiliation, I suppose.
 
Naturally, the military will need to be re-segregated. Send all the dark-skinned people to Iraq and Afghanistan. Don’t worry! They’re used to defending this country, as they have since the Revolutionary War. They’re glad to do it.
 
Now, having established order in our demographics, we’ll need to figure out trade restrictions. White people, being the supreme race, would of course be entitled to rtribute from the less evolved “Other Regions”. They’re probably not smart enough to figure out that they now have us outnumbered, surrounded, and contained. Seige would be so easy.
 
We’ll have change our name: Divided States of America.
 
No. This all just seems too complicated, and I have a simpler solution. Since white supremacists are so disgusted with the way this country has devolved, why don’t you all just sell your property in Backwoods, Idaho and KKK-ville, Alabama, buy yourselves some one-way tickets to Russia and the former USSR countries. (Let’s face it, the rest of Europe wouldn’t have you.) It’s a perfect fit: predominantly white, and they probably wouldn’t object that strongly to your support in their ethnic cleansing projects. You might be allowed even bring your favorite hunting rifle.
 
No reasonable person would ever consider the geographic redistribution of our nation’s population. Most people, regardless of their ethnic backgrounds actually like where they live, or have deep connections to their homes and communities. If you want to see revolution, just try telling someone that they have to give up their homes and property in order to achieve some political agenda.
 
Only the most extreme radicals sincerely believe in apartheit, and I doubt that more than one or two psychos would actually participate in genocide. The idea, we now realize is beyond absurd.
 
Thus, according to the Purist Ideal, the more realistic solution would be to leave people where they are, more or less, and to set up a governmental hierarchy based on skin-tone. The Supreme Leader should be an albino, and all the economic assets of the nation could be distributed by descending levels of melanin.
Only white kids should be educated. We’ll go back to executing those uppity minorities with the audacity to teach their children to read. Superior types, like Indian doctors, Vietnamese techno-geniuses, and black scientists are too much of a threat to national security. Send them all to Gitmo.
 
Over the past thirty-five years or so, I have been privileged to become acquainted with people from many different backgrounds and ethnicities. People who were willing to set aside their own preconceptions in order to know me. My life has been inexpressibly enriched by the diversity of my friends. I like to think that the reverse is true, also. Over time, I have come to realize that people everywhere want the same things. They want their children to feel safe and secure, and to have opportunities to fulfill their potentials.
 
Most importantly, I have learned that wanting the same things I do, is not equivalent to wanting to take mine from me. I have learned, too, that the idea of racial superiority has at its root, the secret fear that the reverse is true; that in order to dominate another set of people, the game must be rigged.
 
On November 4, 2008, the majority of my countrymen spoke up for equality and justice.
The battle is over, hate-mongers. Bigotry didn’t win. It never will.
The time has come to lay down those indefensible ideas about racial separatism. Time to put away those swastika-emblazoned banners, and exchange them for the flag our country.
Come! Join the victorious legions of your fellow Americans who stood up, finally, for those principles upon which this nation was founded.
Now! Become part of the solution, instead of vainly trying to create division between your fellow citizens. There is no “them” anymore. There is only “US“.

 

Wild Horse Dilemma

•2009.01.12 • 1 Comment
Wild As The Wind

Wild As The Wind

For the past few years, I have been given the opportunity to observe this, and a few other small bands of wild horses that inhabit the open range in my area. Each spring, I look forward to seeing the new foals as they begin their life’s journey on wobbly legs. At the same time, I contemplate with dread, the prospect that some, or all of them may be removed from the range in the annual BLM (Bureau of Land Management) roundups.

My concern for the horses has been intensified, since learning of the BLM’s proposed disposal of more than 33,000 horses now in captivity. The agency has run out of funds for their mainenance and upkeep. Proponents of the plan use the word “euthanasia” (implying “merciful death”); opponents call it “slaughter”.

If there were a simple and clear-cut solution amenable to everyone, the problem would be solved. But this is not a simple issue, and the answers are not black-and-white.

Without human intervention, it seems likely that the herds would have become extinct in North America. Left to their own devices, the herds would have starved long ago, due to over-population. Another problem arises from the fact that the horses not indigenous to the region — yet most Nevadans see them as symbols of our own independence and determination to survive in this harsh and rugged country.

As public lands decrease – due in part to urban expansion in the southern part of the state, and diminishing access created by the establishment of Wilderness Areas in the north — competition over available grazing land becomes an increasingly hot issue for ranchers.
Inbreeding could become a threat to the survival of this band. As herd sizes and range areas decrease, bands like this one risk becoming encapsulated; set apart from diverse gene pools of other bands.

Inbreeding could become a threat to the survival of this band. As herd sizes and range areas decrease, bands like this one risk becoming encapsulated; set apart from diverse gene pools of other bands.

For now; for this year only; the endangered horses in captivity have been spared in an eleventh-hour dramatic move by Madeleine Pickens, wife of billionaire, T. Boone Pickens. Mrs. Pickens has agreed to “adopt” all 2,000, and is negotiating with the BLM to take responsibility for all 33,088.

What is not immediately apparent, is what changes will the BLM make, to ensure that a situation this critical is avoided in the future.

Blazing Stallion

Blazing Stallion

 

The Chair: Overstuffed With History

•2009.01.12 • 3 Comments
Audio File: Faded LoveOverstuffed w/History
The Chair: Overstuffed w/History
 

 It sits within a few feet of where it was placed when it came home new, fresh-out-of-the-box, c. 1942.

After about eight years of ruminating on the matter, I finally took the irreversible plunge to replace the old and faded upholstery, with arms worn through to the bony wooden frame, and oozing stuffing from every opening. Mice had made a cozy home there, during the years that the house was unoccupied by humans. I was as torn as the nearly seventy-year-old original fabric. Ultimately, I concluded that the chair was of no value in its dilapidated condition; nobody wanted to sit in it. A makeover would give it life.

Having no experience, and no funds in the budget for a professional reupholstery project, I enlisted the aid of my dear Aunt Thelma, who is skilled with furniture restoration. Her hands are no longer strong enough to pull the fabric taut; the grunt work would be on me.

It took us many days to complete the fabric work; carefully tracing each piece onto the new fabric as we removed the old; painstakingly matching pattern and grain; straining to stretch and staple each section into place. Before we sealed it up, we signed our names and the date inside, for the next upholsterer to find, maybe 50 years from now. The hand-carved wooden trim and feet still await final attachment.

I love this chair! I love the handful of black hairpins we found inside it, that had belonged to the late Widow Coolie, who left this earthly vale in the 1960’s.

Whenever I sink into this big comfy chair, I feel embraced by the many people who lived in this old house before it became my gallery. Sweet reverie made all the sweeter by my sense of accomplishment in bringing it back to life, and the time I got to spend working on it with my aunt. I hardly think about the mice, at all.

 
** The draped chair in the background is vintage 1936, awaiting it’s turn for restoration. The wooden chair in foreground is one of the original “recliners”, adjustable by a wooden peg in the frame. It belonged to my grandfather.

Images of December: Slide Show

•2009.01.12 • 1 Comment

Images Of November In The Great Basin:Slideshow

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment

To view larger stills, please visit my website: GreatBasinLife.com

Flickr

•2009.01.12 • 1 Comment

This is a test post from flickr, a fancy photo sharing thing.

Profile On Patriotism

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment



Profile On Patriotism

Originally uploaded by PhotoRover

Profile On Patriotism

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment



Profile On Patriotism

Originally uploaded by PhotoRover

Slideshow: Images of January 2009

•2009.01.12 • 3 Comments

They’re back! Mule deer spring migration

•2009.01.12 • 4 Comments
2009 FEB 03 - The Big Buck
2009 FEB 03 – The Big Buck
2008 FEB 20 - Mule Deer on the move

 

 

Last

year, on February 20, there was snow on the ground, and I was surprised to see so many deer down from the high country, where they usually spend the winter. The next morning, an earthquake rocked Wells, NV – about 100 miles from here. I thought that explained the early migration. Animals know stuff …

 2008 FEB 20 – Mule Deer on the move

 

These beauties were down low, this afternoon … again, early for the season — but everything seems to be happening early, this year.2009 JAN 03 - Mule Deer Does and Fawns

 They stood there for quite some time, looking at me looking at them. They were so still, had I not spotted them on my way up the canyon, I might have driven by without noticing. That’s one of their tricks, but it seemed strange to see so many of them playing statue all together. Notice how cleverly they chose a patch of earth in similar tone to their own. How is it, they seem to know when they are out of range? My 200 mm lens was not going to catch them well. I knew it. I don’t know how they know these things?

After a while,  they began to grow restless, and the group that was highest in the canyon began to sneak up through the trees. They ambled rather casually, at first, but I could see they were beginning to pick up speed. IF I could get to the truck and gun her up the hill in good time, I might catch the herd as they crossed the road. Yes, I knew what they had in their minds: Head for the trees. Foul up the looky-loo.

I reached the intersection just as the last doe was crossing. Can’t shoot through my cracked windshield… too late for a really good shot. My camera followed them up the rocky hill, running right into the late afternoon sun. Curses! Foiled again! … not much worth keeping in that batch of pics, but of course, I had to TRYto salvage a couple that vaguely revealed the rack I had seen among those 25 or 30 does.

2009 FEB 03 - The Big Buck

2009 FEB 03 - The Big Buck - Click to view larger image

There were a couple of very small forkies in that bunch, too.

Storm On The HIgh Desert

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment



Storm On The HIgh Desert

Originally uploaded by PhotoRover

January seems more like April, this year!

It’s Just My Opinion

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment

Among many old cultures was the practice of “shunning” those who did not conform to cultural norms. Among certain Native American tribes, there was a tradition of declaring someone dead, who was obviously still breathing. In essence, that person was rendered “invisible” to the rest of the tribe.

 

When somebody close to me recently told me that my opinion has no value, I was completely taken aback!  The statement was made matter-of-factly, seemingly without malice.  I resolved not to share any more of my useless opinions with that person, and consequently, the conversation has diminished to the minimum exchange of “information”, as required. Even that information is based on opinion, and our individual perceptions of circumstances.

 

As I have subsequently spent several days pondering the importance of opinion to identity, I endeavored to go through just one day without expressing any opinions. I found it impossible. I have grown increasingly aware that it is largely my opinion of things that defines me as a person. I like this, I love that, I don’t approve of certain things.

 

I participate on some photography sharing sites, and I think it is safe to say that 99.9% of the discourse on these forums consists of the expression of opinion.

 

Further, I have come to realize that my images are expressions of my opinion.  The settings I choose, the framing of the shot, even the precision of focus, are determined by my thoughts about the subject, and the end result I wish to achieve.  Post processing involves more opinion: the degree of saturation I choose, adjustments to tone, levels, curves, even cropping are determined by what I think best expresses the image I am composing. If I am satisfied with the work, or not, that is my own opinion. Other people may express their opinions about an image, and that might or might not affect my opinion of it.

 

Much has been written in recent, as well as in ancient times, cautioning me against judgmentalism, which has its roots in the egoic mind. Often, these authors suggest having a positive attitude, and learning to perceive everything as “perfect”. Perfection is a perception. Just one person’s opinion.

 

 

Opinion, I have decided (which is an expression of opinion, in itself) is among the core attributes that define life, itself.

 

Even animals have opinions about things; it is essential to their survival.   I may have some control over how I choose to look at any given situation — it is still a matter of my own opinion.   Nothing — absolutely nothing – in creation is exempt from opinion. If I say, “The sky is blue,” someone else will almost inevitably say, “Oh, it’s rather gray today.”   Or turquoise, or pink. Or — one of my personal favorites: “The sky has no color of its own; blue is the result of light refraction.”

 

 To say that I am female, or that I am 54 years old, are assumptions based on things I have been told. Opinions based on common cultural norms and standards.

 

 

At length, I find little peace with having been told that my opinion has no value. I recognize that certain things about me don’t fit the criteria that one person has accepted as her measurement of value — her own opinion.

 

All my pondering has lead to me conclude that the opinion of the person who made that insensitive statement to me, is tantamount to a declaration of death. It really bites! But that’s just my opinion.

January ~ Catching up to 2009

•2009.01.12 • Leave a Comment
2009 January 20

Today, I had the pleasure of meeting another JPG’er; John Vass, from Washington state. It wasn’t a good day for shooting. Bright sunlight made the shadows hard, and blow-out pretty much inevitable. I showed John around town, and the upper cemetery. Like so many visitors to Cherry Creek, much of the “charm” of the place was lost on my guest. Indeed, he is right: it can be tricky to find an angle without a trailer in the background, and yes, the cemeteries are in a deplorable state of deterioration. Sometimes, I wonder if that dilapidation is not what I should be documenting, rather than “best light, most esthetically pleasing angle ?  But no. That kind of work just would not sell — perhaps it takes an eye like mine, to look between the broken-down cars and garish-colored freight boxes, to find the little spots of goodness that remains intact.

2009 January 19

Unseasonably warm weather and several days, now, of bright sunshine make it nigh impossible to remain indoors, so when my expected visitor cancelled today’s shoot, I jumped at the chance to ride along with friends who were going rabbit hunting. I don’t hunt. 

A small herd of does lingering around the eastern mouth were the only wildlife encountered along the whole mud-and-icy length of Egan Canyon. No rabbits. I didn’t mind that.  I suppose I am a hypocrite for always secretly rooting for the quarry.

They were so far away from the road, they weren’t even very worried about us stopping to look at them. The light was so low, and distance so great, I thought I was shooting ONE deer. I didn’t even see the one on the right. We eventually counted five others, up among the trees with just their white flags hanging out. I turned my ISO up to 400 to adjust for the light, knowing that the running engine of the vehicle would make for even more blur.  Under the circumstances, these aren’t the worse shots in the world … but they’re not good for much, either, other than to document that deer were sighted on the nineteenth of January, 2009.

2009 JAN 19 - Mule Deer

2009 JAN 19 - Mule Deer

Although the landscape wasn’t particularly intriguing up there, this day, I was impressed by the way the deep light was striking one monolithic ridge, and pointed out the gleam to the driver. She stopped. We both shot the rocks. 

It’s not easy to photograph rocks and boulders. I should say, it’s not easy to retain the depth and character of rocks in a 2-dimensional format.

2009 JAN 19 Egan Monolith
2009 January 11
My website rebuild has progressed somewhat more slowly than I had anticipated, but hopefully, the restructuring and better organization will simplify things a bit. Check out the changes at Great Basin Life.com . I would love to hear comments and feedback on the site in general! 
The original idea for restructuring, suggested by my site host and BFF, Robyn, at First Choice Publishing, was to create my primary web presence on WordPress, with links to my home site.  She helped me set up another account: wordpress.org/www.greatbasinlife.  We have installed some cool gadgets — but I don’t know how to work them yet,  so here I go back to this original WordPress place – at least until I can figure out how to apply the gallery add-ins to the new location.  I’ll keep you posted.
The year started off with some disappointing news:  On New Year’s Day, JPG Magazine announced that they would be closing down on January 5.  I had just begun to feel somewhat at home over there, and frankly, had stayed on more as a matter of obligated loyalty, than any other attraction.  JPG published my first international photo essay:  Ghost Town Girl”  — one of the great highlights of 2008.
Almost immediately, JPG announced that they had several buy-out offers, and that the website would remain online until details of an agreement could be reached. 
These are trying days for the core members of JPG, who seem to be rallying for continuation of the site.  One of the members invited me to join their group on FlickR. As of last night, I have added yet another forum to my network. (I still have a boatload of images to add there.)
I don’t know how so many people manage to keep up with so many online organizations!  It has seemed like all I could do to maintain regular interaction with my two fav’s: PhotoForum and JPG - and I don’t even have a real job (or even a pretend one).
With changes in the appearance of the website, it seems, I have begun to sense a shift in the quality of my photography. Friends who have followed my progress over the past few years may note something different. I trust this will be a positive change! 
Until I can catch up with including photos on this site, please visit my January PhotoJournal on Great Basin Life.
Thanks so much for stopping by!
The Screen Door - Tippett House - Cherry Creek, NV

The Screen Door - Tippett House - Cherry Creek, NV

Meanwhile, on the home front, personal turmoil over diffences with my family, over our grandmother’s end-of-life care,  casts a pall over my mood and outlook, lately … but that is the subject for another complete blog, that I will get to, eventually. I don’t think this issue is going to go away (for me) – ever.

Best Of 2008

•2009.01.12 • 2 Comments