Sketches
Short Projects as Chapbooks and PDFs

The camera is the perfect sketch tool. I think of this Sketches series as the photographic equivalent of short stories — part notebook, part sketch book, part diary, part travel journal, part random thoughts, part photographic portfolio — a mixture of images and words. They are short projects, often just a handful of images and short text that are intended as quick observations. Less than a book, more than a print, these Sketches are, well, sketches of life.

This series is being parallel published in two media for different audiences — ePublication PDFs for digital download, and as inexpensive artist chapbooks exploring the wonderful world of art papers and hand-sewn designs. More . . .

Worlds Within Worlds

Learning photography by photographing through the microscope, I was struck how the vast cosmos looked so remarkably like what I was photographing in the tiny worlds in a drop of pond water. Seeing photographs of the great nebulae through the telescope reminded me of the amoeba under the coverslip. These similarities gave scientific testament to the words of Lao Tzu that, "The great Tao flows everywhere, to the left and to the right." Everywhere, including the cosmically vast and the microscopically small. Science, photography, Zen. Weaving these threads has been the constant theme of my artmaking ever since.

Living Landscape

In the late fall of 2010, I was invited to participate in an international photo exhibit in Xiang Sha Wan, inner-Mongolia, China along with 10 other American photographers. The theme of the exhibition was "Landscape." We were each asked to provide 20-30 images.

I've been a fan of Chinese poetry for some thirty years, and always thought I'd like to combine images and poetry into some sort of photographic presentation. What an ideal opportunity!

Uchiwa-e

The uchiwa, or rigid paper fan, is a practical device in the heat of Japan. Over the centuries, uchiwa have become an art form with a charm all their own. The paper prints that are used to make fans are called uchiwa-e, the suffix indicating the print itself.

In the fall of 2009, I traveled to Japan with an experiment in mind of making photographs for the uchiwa format. I now understand why this format suited the Japanese printmakers so well; everywhere I turned I found subjects ideally suited to the fan-shaped image.

Tangerine Gifts

In 1990, David Grant Best and I photographed in the northern region of rural Japan known as Tohoku. From our experiences and photography during that trip, we produced in 1992 a handmade artist’s book called Tangerine Gifts.

Now, using recently rediscovered original letterpress text signatures, this LensWork Special Editions folio recreates Tangerine Gifts in the new “folio format.” As a folio, eighteen of the best images from this trip to Tohoku have been selected for this reissue, produced from new scans of the original negatives.

The New 100 Prints Project

In 1986, I committed myself to a photography project I called The One Hundred Prints Project. This project —The New 100 Prints Project — was inspired by the first one. Again, it is a bit of a motivational construct. By committing myself to post a new image every third day for a year, I hoped to push myself to create 100 new images. "Artistic discipline" is a bit of an oxymoron, but being an artist and not producing work is just plain moronic. This project, completed in just 9 months, is a testament to what can accumulate if one does a small thing with regularity over time.

Silva Lacrimosa

Out photographing with a friend, we stumbled into the remains of the fourth largest forest fire in the history of National Forests — the Thirty-Mile Fire in the Okanogan forest.

I found myself more and more saddened by the story I began to feel in the charred remains of the forest fire. I knew I was simply projecting my human emotions on the forest, a philosophical flaw that is fallacy. Nonetheless, as I photographed a drip of sap on the sooted bark, I began to cry. The tears of the forest were flowing through me.

Wakarimasen

For a few years in my youth, I studied Oriental calligraphy — Chinese and Japanese, in particular. I love the dance of the brush, the shapes that are both words and graphics that capture the motion of the master calligrapher's hand. These graffiti shapes on the wall of Fort Worden reminded me of the calligraphy I studied — and like the calligraphy, they seemed to be words that I could not read. Hence, wakarimasen — Japanese for "I don't understand."

The Annual Winter Trees Folios

I suppose it is a rare photographer who has worked in the landscape but not photographed winter trees. They are irresistable! For me, it’s an annual rite of passage, an excuse to get out into the crisp, clean air, to see the essence of the forest before the green returns, and to look forward to the coming changes that will arrive with spring.

The idea for a series of annual folios celebrating winter trees has been with me for a long, long time — since my earliest days in photography. I've now completed seven Winter Trees folios and haven't tired of making these images yet.

October Seas

This portfolio is the result of a few incredible winter days in late October 2005 from the rugged central Oregon coastline. I've tried for over 20 years to photograph that silvery light in the surf that bathes the ocean on stormy days, but I've never been successful. During these three glorious day, however, the light and sea, the clouds and even a flock of birds, smiled on me. The twelve images in this portfolio were photographed in the short span of one weekend.

Hope Eternal

In North Dakota there is wind. On occasion, it stops blowing for a while, but not long. It blows day and night, spring and fall. It's a hard land to make a living on. This keeps many from trying, but not all. There are those who believe they are stronger than the wind, stronger than the winters, stronger than the elements that fight them day and night. To them, hope springs eternal.

Bass Mood

Near my home in Anacortes is the Padilla Bay Wildlife Sanctuary. Fancy name for a giant low-tide mud flat. It's a great place to be a bird or a mollusc. The mud is dark, wet, slippery, sloppy. In the rain at low tide, it's a droning bass tone . . . which inspired this short video.

Made of Steel

From my grandfather I learned to love the polish of long-used tools and the unmistakable aroma of oil and fresh metal filings. I can still smell his shop and hear his voice – thick with his old-world Armenian accent – echo in the tall ceilings. I guess he also taught me to love the stories and manners of old, greasy machine shop men.