I’ve entered uncharted territory. . . .
For the past two days I’ve wrestled with a couple of new scenic photographs I had made on Sunday afternoon. The more I worked on them, the less I liked them. I just couldn’t seem to get these images to express what I saw and felt as I photographed the light at a favorite place, near the village of Inverness, on the shore of Tomales Bay. 

What I saw was the singular beauty of Black Mountain, its folds accented by the late afternoon sun. The clouds above the mountain were spectacular, puffy cumulus, brilliantly lit as well. The foreground included rivulets of shining water, remnants of the receding tide. The light shone everywhere, including on a swamped duck boat at the water’s edge. As I stood watching and working the scene with my camera, I felt deeply happy, grateful I could be there to witness such a moment of light.

Later, back at my studio, I couldn’t get my new images to sing, to reveal what I had experienced, no matter how many ways I processed them. The mountain fought with the clouds, and the grasses and tidal waters merged making it unclear where land ended and water began.

What follows is my best version of that scene, made last night. I was ready to give up, until it dawned on me that maybe this photograph was never meant to be a monochrome.

As much as I pride myself on being an exclusively black-and-white photographic artist, I decided to peak under the hood of my image for the original color record. (Note: beneath all of my digital black and white images, there’s a full color version that I’ve converted to monochrome!) Normally, I take only a cursory look at the original color before moving on to my conversion, but this time I bravely looked again.

What I found was both delightful and a little bit threatening to my self-declared artist image. In the color version, the mountain stopped arguing with the clouds and the water knew its boundary with the land! I could even see the duck boat again. The color rendering looked and felt more like what I saw and felt when I stood there earlier in the week. Well, what was I going to do, now?

So, for the time being, I’m letting both versions see the light of day. I have no idea where all this goes. I’ll be writing more about this in the coming days. In the meantime, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please let me know what you think about all of this: have I lost my marbles? Should I change my ways and add color to my expressive work, or should I leave well enough alone? I’m all ears. Write to me here: info@martyknapp.com

Before I go, here’s another photo from that day shown in both versions:

On a bright fall afternoon in 1986 I stood on the banks of Lagunitas Creek at a bend we locals call White House Pool. My 35mm camera was on a tripod. I felt a mix of emotions­–elation as I watched this rare occurrence of popcorn clouds reflecting on the still waters below and fear that what I saw was just too much to express with an image made with my camera.

It had been three years since I had decided to dedicate my life to becoming an artist/photographer. Most of that time was spent in mastering the technical aspects of photography. Now, hesitating, I wondered if I would have something worthwhile to say. So, as I stood on the banks of the river with a magnificent tableau begging to be photographed, the time had come. It was as if God had reached down from the clouds to shake me by the shoulders, saying “Well, what are you waiting for?”

So, I went for it. When I first saw the scene, the water was still with the clouds mirrored below. As I looked through the lens, a gentle breeze started, slightly rippling the reflections on the water. I made a horizontal photo first, and then quickly turned the camera for a vertical shot. Click. Suddenly, the wind intensified, erasing all the reflections. The scene was gone!

Back in the darkroom I looked through the wet film as it hung drying. The beauty of the light pouring through the reversed image was extraordinary. I looked forward to printing the positives. When the first prints appeared, almost magically from the development tray, I began to feel hope that I finally had something to say, to show. Next I would have to decide which of the two compositions I would put out into the world.

I decided to feature the vertical and began making prints. Clouds, White House Pool (vert.) became a  signature photograph of my early landscape work. It provided entry to Viewpoints Gallery curated by the late Lee Flynn. Lee took me on as a featured photographer and gave me my first exhibits.

Clouds, White House Pool (vert.) began to sell. Limited-editions went out to the world. It was used as premium during a fund-raiser by the Bolinas Museum, and was the featured artwork used to promote the West Marin Music Festival. It opens my book, Point Reyes 20 Years.

Meanwhile, Clouds, White House Pool (horiz.) the first exposure I made that afternoon, became an orphan. A few miniatures and a couple of numbered prints were sold early on. I began overlooking it and I stopped showing it. 

The other day, a visitor to my gallery who had seen one of the rare horizontal miniatures, asked if I could make a print for her. I located the negative and as I made her print, I wondered why this beautiful image had been abandoned. Had I chosen the wrong version to feature in my catalog? As I worked on the orphaned print I became more and more drawn to it. Memories of that afternoon, so long ago, flooded me. I decided to add it to my catalog and made a large version for the front window of my gallery.

So now, I’d like to know—which one do YOU like best? Please take a closer look via the links below. Write to me here: marty@martyknapp.com., or post your comments on this blog page. I’m all ears, and if you don’t mind, please tell me why you prefer one over the other!
Clouds, White House Pool (horiz.)
Clouds, White House Pool (vert.)

It’s that time again. I’ve reviewed the photographs I made over the last twelve months to come up with my personal favorites to share with you. View the complete Favorite Photos 2019 Collection. 

As you’ll see, I’ve spent a good deal of time wandering among the trees, letting the light lead me to discoveries. In January I met an old friend, Riggy Rackin, masterful english concertina performer, who led me on a special walk above Rock Springs on Mount Tam. I looked skyward to make the following photograph:

Most of my photographic wanderings occurred not far from my home. In fact a couple of my favorites were made on walks along the Green Bridge Trail, right next to our home. They ended up in my recently published book, One Place Deeply.  The one shown below was made a few days after the summer solstice in 2019.

In Jenner, California I met my friend Jim Wehlage and walked a darkened trail down to a rock outcropping above the sea.  Shown here is a time exposure of the Milky Way rising above the rocks in the star-splashed sky. 

Lately I’ve been looking much closer at the flora along the trail. During a recent frosty morning, I was drawn to a gesture made by a pair of leaves in the early morning sun.  Another morning a frozen teasel beckoned.

I hope you enjoyed looking at these photographs. You’ll find more of my macro plant images in the Close-up Flora Collection.