The Making of a Book

by
A view of the west wall at 2018 One Place Deeply exhibit.

In Spring, 2011, I began photographing the views along the Green Bridge Trail, a loop trail in the wetlands near my Point Reyes home. My photo walks soon became a daily ritual. As I continued to photograph in this park, I became intrigued with its many facets which changed with the seasons, hours of the day and weather. It became clear that this seemingly obscure area would reveal unexpected treasures if only I would continue to take the time… to pause… and to look deeply. In the back of my mind I entertained the idea of some day publishing the fruits of my walks in a photo book.

In November, 2018 I was invited to show my photography at Marin Civic Center’s Bartolini Gallery. With the idea of a future book still in mind, I chose to show a series of images from my walks in the park. The show was named One Place Deeply: Walking the Green Bridge Trail. Buoyed by the positive response to this exhibit and after a second showing of the work at Toby’s Gallery in Point Reyes, I began working in earnest on the book.

Using the exhibit as an outline, I expanded the number of photographs for the book. Selecting the finals from over one thousand images made during the previous eight years was an arduous task. Finally, this November, the book was published. It bears the same name as the earlier exhibit: One Place Deeply – Walking the Green Bridge Trail.

The book, mirrors the exhibit, but doubles its scope. The original exhibit featured 34 photographs, the book has 63. The series of images flow in thematic sections like the show: Invitation, Portals, Mystery, Frozen, The Creek, Abundance & Intricate Design. The following are my musings on the making of the photographs featured in both.

BEGINNINGS
In 2011, Jean and I rented an old family home on the doorstep of the wetlands behind Point Reyes Station. My proximity to the wetlands provided many hours of meditative photography. I walked the loop trails there on hundreds of occasions over the years and continue to do so these days. On mornings, as Jean lovingly prepared our breakfast, I was free to explore the light with my camera. That was just one of the many ways, she helped make the creation of this book possible.

Sunrise back lights this dew-laden grass stalk in the Giacomini Wetlands at Point Reyes.

When I first wandered into the wetlands behind Point Reyes Station in late spring of 2011, it was the exquisite details on the dew-drenched flora I found along the Green Bridge Trail. I sometimes became lost is reverie as I studied nature’s glory through the magnifying lens on my camera.


PORTALS
After a while my focus turned away from close-ups of the light sparkling on the plants to broader views I found along the maze of trails there. Openings in the willows bordering the creek fascinated, drew me in. As I walked I noted that the sun’s angle changed views dramatically as it coursed through the seasons and the hours of the day. At times I felt I had entered a landscape for the first time, even though I had walked into it countless times before.

May 21, 2018: A window of light on the Green Bridge Trail in Point Reyes Station.

ATMOSPHERE
I visited in times of frost, fog and sun. Each atmosphere changed the character of the views I found. I acquired a small, pocketable but very powerful camera. It liberated me from the constraints of carrying a heavy tripod. Who would have thought that the digital revolution would allow such freedom of movement! Reacting to changing light, I repositioned myself for much more spontaneous photographic creativity!

RETURNING
One foggy morning the details of nature’s intricate patterns drew me closer. This time, though, I needed my tripod to steady the heavier camera and macro lens attached. On a spider’s web I found dewdrops like pearls strung opulently and lit softly through the mist by the sun’s rays. On another morning, as the fog lifted, I found a gossamer web decorated with a spare arrangement of drops that still confounds me whenever I look at it

I found myself kneeling close to where I had started in these wetlands… photographing again the magnificent world of the very small. I thought of William Blake’s poem, which is featured in the end piece of my book:
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

August 4, 2018: Milky Way rises above Lagunitas Creek along Green Bridge Trail

Preview Art on Your Wall

by

Have you had a hard time choosing which photograph and what size it should be for a certain space? Despite your efforts at measuring and trying to visualize what works best, you remain frustrated! It doesn’t have to be that hard. Listen, simply email us a photo of your wall with the titles you’d like to consider. We’ll send you virtual images with your selected artwork, already hanging on your wall! Just relax and decide at your leisure. Examples we’ve made to help clients follow. Complete instructions along with a link to samples are here: 

Galaxy and Shipwreck enhances the drama in this virtual placement.
Oak Circle, presented in a face-mounted version enhances the dining area of this home.
A quartet of infrared trees was chosen for an entry-way by a client.
Bolinas Ridge Triptych
Tamalpais Ridges & Fog, Face-Mounted
Oak & Clouds above desk
Clouds, White House Pool
Magnificent Oak
Large Tamalpais Ridges Triptych – Face-Mounted
Bubbles above tub
Triptych in separate frames

The Night We Slew the Mountain Lion

by

Making a Photograph in the Dark at McClures Beach

It had been a long time since I had brought my camera to McClures Beach. Over the last 40 years, I had made innumerable trips to my favorite Point Reyes beach, making some of my finest images there. I felt I was through photographing this beach. But, then something changed. While on a desert photo expedition, my friend Hadley introduced me to starry night photography. I made my first night sky exposures and became inspired by the beauty of astrophotography. I began to imagine how McClures Beach might look under a clear star-splashed sky….

McClures Beach is the northernmost beach on the Point Reyes Peninsula. A half-mile trail winds steeply down through a canyon. The canyon wall, covered with dense brush growth, rises abruptly on the north side of the path. More than once I’ve had the eerie feeling of being watched by some large animal hidden in the brush as I’ve walked down this trail.

At the bottom of the trail, to the south, a majestic dark rocky point juts out to sea. Beyond the point are rugged sea stacks. The point is magnificent, ancient, and more than a little threatening. A plaque on the rocks memorializes the many fishermen and sailors who have lost their lives here. It warns me to be careful. McClures exudes a powerful, and sometimes terrifying beauty. That beauty has drawn me here so many times since my first visit in November, 1974.

A classic daytime photo made at McClures Beach:

September Sunset, McClures Beach September, 1995

First night visit to McClures Beach

On the last day of Sept, 2016 our coastal fog disappeared as the new moon arrived, providing ideal conditions for star photography on our coast. Excited about this chance, I organized my gear and set my alarm for a midnight adventure. Lying in bed, I rehearsed my upcoming visit to the darkened beach. As I began to drift off to sleep an ominous sense of dread disturbed my reverie. I shuddered. I recalled reports of recent sightings of a mountain lion in the northern area of the peninsula, not far from where I would walk that night. Finally, I managed to fall asleep, but tossed fitfully until the alarm went off.

I quickly dressed and gathered my gear. Outside I noticed how brightly the stars shone above, but as I began driving toward the coast, dark thoughts returned. The thought of the upcoming walk down the trail to the beach gave me the willies. In 30 minutes I was parked at the trailhead. To prepare for the downhill walk, I reminded myself that it was unlikely I would be in danger along the canyon path.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck as I walked briskly downhill. I lifted my tripod high above my head to appear larger. I heard crackling sounds coming from the brush. I made my own brave noises as my hands grew clammy.

Once on the beach I began to feel a wee bit safer. Standing on the vast plane of sands, the immense dark starry sky above, I experienced a sweet mix of joy and loneliness. I found my spot and set up the tripod. I could see the Milky Way streaming above the point, glowing in the water below. So beautiful….

Then it happened. As I prepared to make my first exposure, the camera would not turn on! Everything I had gone through just to be here… and now, this? No photographs of the stars at McClures Point this night… and perhaps ever. Disappointment, then resignation washed over me. Then, fear crept back in. I had to get back up that dark trail. As I looked back toward the trail, I felt a sudden, deepening chill in the air. I scrambled up through the dark canyon passage. Then, safe inside the car, I slumped against the steering wheel.

The repaired camera came back in several days. The sky was still dark and very clear. I wondered if I could make that midnight walk to the beach again. When I visualized my favorite beach at night, that damned mountain lion kept popping up! I didn’t know if the beast was really there, but the thought of being alone in the dark gave me the creeps.

Returning to McClures with Jean

I confided my struggles with fear to Jean. She said, “Well… what if I came with you on the walk… strength in numbers, y’know?” I thought about it for a moment. I replied, “Hmm… now that sounds a lot less scary. The two of us will be formidable. No mountain lion will dare mess with such a team!”

So, on the night of October 4, 2016, Jean and I drove to McClures Beach. We talked and laughed all the way down the canyon trail to the beach. We made a new path of sound to protect us. The creatures of the night remained invisible somewhere out there in the dark.
The crescent moon was setting to the west as we set up the camera. Jean held a micro light to assist me as I adjusted the Sony. We both saw the band of the Milky Way streaming above the point. Jean wondered how such a faint band of light would look in the final photograph. I reassured her, “Tomorrow, when we get up, I’ll show you what the camera captured. I hope we’ll both be surprised!”

The next morning, I developed the image which showed our galaxy in all it’s glory — a wondrous stream of millions of stars above the dark rocky point. Jean said, “Now I get it … the camera sees them all, even the ones we can’t see!”

That was the night we slew the mountain lion.

Milky Way Reflects over McClures Point October, 2016