Sunday, September 19, 2010

My Grandnephew!


Just looking at pictures of him makes me feel warm and happy. I'm going to North Carolina to meet him in early November. Very much looking forward to it.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Voices of Spring

I'll admit that classical music doesn't mean as much to me as classic rock (and if 90% of you are honest, you'll admit it too). Sure, I know- and like- Beethoven's 9th, and the stuff that everyone knows. Holst: The Planets? Love it. But there are plenty of gaps in my music knowledge. For instance, I'd never heard Voices of Spring until exposed to it in Iceland by Viðar.

Viðar is a 65 year old man whose library contains leather-bound volumes of the Icelandic sagas. His musical preferences don't exactly run along the lines of AC/DC and Megadeth. So when we were driving through the Icelandic countryside, I asked what the hideous music we were listening to was called (I left out the hideous part). He said Voices of Spring in the quizzical way most of us would say "Stairway to Heaven". You know Stairway? Hello! Duh?!' He went on to explain that back then prepubescent boys with beautiful singing voices were castrated in order to preserve their voices at a mezzo-soprano. I'd heard of the practice of castrato before, so I was grossed out for a second time.

I did the best I could to tolerate Voices of Spring, because there are few things I love more than a day trip to a new place. Driving through Iceland was like winning the lottery. There were glaciers! Black mountains! Geyers! Icelandic horses! And... there was Voices of Spring.

I knew I was fortunate to have met such a nice guy on my first trip alone overseas. But Voices of Spring was killing me. Seriously. I did the best I could to not say anything. That is until the ball-free tenor (mezzo soprano, whatever) hit a high note that made the windows in Viðar's car shatter. The singer was like "Ah, ah, ah, ah AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" and I lost it. I asked if he had any other music.

Frank Sinatra never sounded so good.

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Darkroom vs. Photoshop

I used to love spending time in the darkroom, making images magically appear before my eyes. I was so eager to get the whole process started that I often developed film (plastic reels not metal thank you) in my bathroom at home. I can still picture the 36 exposure strips of Tri-X hanging in my shower.

I've always been a big fan of photographers like Duane Michaels and Jerry Uelsman. While I appreciated the technical expertise of Ansel Adams and Ernst Haas, I favored the photographers who put a provocative spin on the ordinary. I gravitated toward this in my own photography. I spent many an hour burning, dodging, and combining negatives to bring forth my visions. The image below is one of a series I did in the early 80s. I was obsessed with swings as a metaphor for transendence, although this one is more about the nature of memories.


My photography teacher at ASU loved the series, but challenged me to do a powerful, 'straight-up' image of a swing- no darkroom magic. I went to a park the next day, and by that afternoon delivered my results. It was a wonderful feeling to grin smugly as he said "Wow! You really did it!" I'll have to dig up that photo. I know I have it somewhere.

Up until a few weeks ago I had never used Photoshop or any type of image editing software. Now that I'm learning it, Photoshop seems easier than the darkroom in some ways- but not most. I guess it will take time to master it. Here's some playing around I've done so far:



I posted an undoctored version of the pic below a while back. In this one I removed all the grey tones, which I think makes it look better.