All posts filed under: Color

A Rain Drop. Two Ways.


A little comparison. A couple of you here, and on other social media, liked my last black and white offering very much. Thank you. You said that was the right direction to take the picture. I agree with you. I thought that it was too. But. You can’t possibly know that without seeing both versions of the image. Maybe the color version was really wowie-zowie. That’s a technical term for really good. Ha! Rather than repost a picture so soon along with its colorful mate, I thought that I would post two new images that are similar in subject and theme. So. Here they are. Still in the theme of water. Still a very tightly composed image, with no crops or external enhancements. Both versions do have a funny rim shadow that looks like I popped a strobe on it. I didn’t. That is just a characteristic of late afternoon light that feel after the storm. By the way, if you follow me on Instagram, you’ll see a portrait of the dog who shows me …

What Remains


I go back. To this place of flood waters and death. I go back every three or four months. Just to see how things are progressing. The Lower 9th Ward was destroyed during the flooding after Hurricane Katrina. The levees broke. The levees that were built by the Army Corps of Engineers were not properly maintained. They probably weren’t constructed properly in the first place. So, the storm surge hit the walls from seemingly every direction.  In total, throughout New Orleans, there were 57 levee breaks. Most were small. The two that the world saw were here, in the Lower 9th Ward, and in Lakeview. Both areas were inundated with 15 to 20 feet of water. Buildings were swept from their foundations. Both neighborhoods were destroyed. Lakeview has pretty much come back. The people there had fairly good insurance, money and were aided by the LRA because they could prove that ownership of their land and houses. In the Lower 9th ward, not so much. Most homes were insured for replacement costs… in like 1925. Ownership …

For Today


Yes. Just for today. Because I make pictures every day without even thinking about doing it, I have a large backlog of images that I wouldn’t even consider to be in my archives. They haven’t made it that far. Yet. I also do believe in the notion of marinating the work. Just because I made the picture today doesn’t mean I need  to post it today. Tomorrow is fine. Next week is fine. A month is fine. I like to get away from the emotions I felt when I actually pushed the button. Sometimes, they over ride the actual image. Because of that, I see something that you can never see. To be sure, assignments and commissioned work have deadlines. But, I try to build a little time between the shoot date and the delivery date. This picture was made the last time I actually set foot in my little swamp. It lived on a hard drive until it called out to me. I did some of my usual post production. This time to bring …

This.


This. And, this alone. The Facebook posts are starting. Twitter is tweeting. And, the wheel turns. Folks are thanking everybody who ever served. There is day for this. Veterans Day. People are thanking their uncle, who was a policeman for 30 years. His work meant a lot. I’m sure there is a day for that in your community. Some folks are thanking firefighters. Reach out. The next time you see a fireman in uniform, thank him. Their work means a lot. Most are heroes in some way. After all, when a building is on fire what do we do? We run away from it. Fireman run into the fire. To save your pet. Memorial Day. This holiday is for one particular group. The soldiers, sailors, marines and airmen who never came home. The ones who gave all of themselves. The ones who died in some forgotten battle. Or, in an unpopular war. Or, in a forgotten war. Monday is for them. Please don’t cheapen their sacrifice be spreading the meaning of the day. Smoothing it so that …

A Portrait on the Steps


We all wait. For something. A grocery line. A toll bridge line. A venue line. On Sunday — any Sunday — we wait for the second line to begin. Everybody waits while the hosting club gets ready to make their very grand entrance. It’s a tradition. For everybody. It’s a time to hang out and talk to people you know. And, meet some folks who you didn’t know. I saw this young woman leaning against a supporting pole and thought that she might make a nice picture. I waited until the background was fairly clean. That took some patience because the door to the house in which everybody was getting ready is right behind her. I made about five or six quick exposures and I was done. I showed her the pictures on my camera and gave her my business card. She smiled and told me that she knew I was taking her picture. She thought that I wanted her just as she was, so she waited. Talk about communicating with a subject without saying a …

The Edges of Things


The edges. Sometimes, it’s better to look along the edges of the event. Things get more interesting there. So do the pictures. I’ve long said that for those of us who work second lines on a regular basis that our pictures look about the same. Oh sure, there are lens selection differences. There are post production differences and choices. But, the content — which is king — looks very similar. So. I’ve been listening to two pieces of advice. One in the form of a quote. The other in a conversation with a sort of mentor. The quote is musician Neil Young’s. He said it right after he had a couple of big hit albums in the 1970s. His work was becoming too middle of the road for him. His record label, promoters and publicists wanted more. The same kind of work, only slightly different. It made a lot of money. But, money isn’t everything. His response was to kill his pop career with three albums often referred as the ditch trilogy. They weren’t bad …

Miles from Nowhere


Well. Yesterday’s post was completely misunderstood. By me. Seems like any of you who commented here or on Facebook liked the picture for something that I never saw. That figures. Apparently, my own vision doesn’t make much sense. Which does make sense. In the long view. That said. I’ll tell you where I took this picture. You tell me what it means. Please. Even though there is an air of loneliness in this picture, it really isn’t all that far out there. It is about as far west as you can go in the City of Albuquerque, and still be within city limits. See those nice neat curbs? I suspect that one day there will be houses out in the high desert. Rows and rows of houses. I could tell you the story of this picture. How it came to be. But, I’ll probably just aggravate a few people. So, I’ll go with my new flow. I’ll keep my fingers calm. Rested. Waiting.

A City in Color


I’m back to it. The first thing to understand is that I did not intentionally make a statement with my post production explorations. I am really just letting the picture take me wherever it wants to go. However, I know what this picture looks like. The apocalyptic future. Something out of one of those “Escape from Somewhere” movies. I assure you that was not my intent. To tell the truth, the picture was made in Dallas. Texas. When the late afternoon sun bounced off the buildings in the middle distance. What looks like a pile of broken something in the foreground are actually just are overgrown summer weeds. Everything else that you see was made in my computer. But. There was huge uproar this week.  In short, a fairly well awarded young photojournalist was found to have used other photographer’s pictures within his own, using various technical overlay tools to make his work better. It was discovered by a serious fan of Mary Ellen Mark’s work, who recognized part of her picture — made thirty years earlier …

The Right Notes


Fourteen days. That’s the mourning period when a second line, or at least a brass band, will pass by Deb Cotton’s house. In Treme. That is the official mourning time. Even if the memorial event — let’s say a jazz funeral — and internment have already been completed. At least, it was her old house until the injuries caused by her shooting got worse. She moved. The new dwellers will get serenaded every night. For fourteen days. Unless I can chase the band down I won’t be posting something from this for the next two weeks. Once we learn how Deb will be memorialized, I’ll attend and I’ll make some new work. Unless, it is private. That happens sometimes. Maybe most times. I doubt with her street cred that it will happen this time. I do have a lot of pictures from Tuesday night’s second line to show you. Not every day. And, not a lot of them. But, they will be well produced. I learned a lot while I was reworking my older work. Even though these pictures …

Head, Hands and Feet


See? I told you I really wasn’t changing direction all that much. I hope that you believed me. You have no reason to because I change directions on Storyteller, every chance that I get. Sometimes. This is the inside of the Chapel at St. Roch Cemetery. I think everybody who finds their way to this place takes a version of this picture. I tinkered with it in every way possible and it still looks like the same thing everybody else publishes. Kind of. Sort of. The real eye catcher is the red heart. It pops out of the wall because I helped it a lot in post production. I brightened the red. I scrubbed it. I cleaned it. I wanted it to be the centerpiece without it obviously trying too hard. St. Roch, itself. Well, just type that into the search area here and you can find maybe four or five pieces that I’ve written about it. Suffice it to say, the  St. Roch Chapel is thought of as sort of a Lourdes of the …