Redwood Rain Forest, California

The Temperate Rain Forests of Northern California are all but gone. What remains is a distant echo of a majesty that once stretched from Alaska to the Santa Cruz and beyond. Yes, I have no doubt benefited from the loss of the trees. If only the logging industry had proceeded with some reverence for the magnificent forests.

 There are a few remnants of the great forests protected as sponsored groves. In almost every case traffic can be heard if not seen. The print you see was made less than 300 yards from the main highway. 

 There in the forest, the exquisite woven tapestry of life can still be felt. A place where the actions of natural balance manifests and persists. Even as I experience a deep regret for the destruction of the forests, I realize balance bides its time. Balance outlasts all.

 The light is always magnificent, in rain, mists, fog or clear sun. The scene evolves and changes throughout the day. I searched for a representative island of the great forest that was. The grace and miracle of the forest still survives, if barely. There are majestic redwoods over 2000 years old, and their quiet wisdom can be read for any that care to look. Yogi Berra said it perfectly “You can observe a lot by watching…”

Sandstorm Death Valley Dunes

I watched the storm through the windshield and thought, “Even if I was crazy I wouldn’t leave this truck”. Dense clouds of sand driven by 60-mph winds flew 500 feet above the desert. What appeared through the window was incredible. I sat in my truck and set-up the 4X5 camera in case of a courage attack. Thunder and lightening struck above the truck shaking my bones. I felt very small…my heart sinking to a place well under the road. 

At that moment the clouds over the western mountains broke and sunlight flooded the desert… I had my chance. 

I stopped thinking, grabbed the camera and jumped out. I walked for 15 minutes hood pulled up and head down to avoid flying sand. I stopped to measure progress and realized I was off course. The dunes lay far in the distance. Thinking hopefully of my truck, I turned to mark the return path. The truck, the mountains and road were nearly gone, there was only sand. Looking back towards the dunes the scene on the ground was still clear. I was lost in thought looking for a place ½ mile closer to the dunes to place the tripod… Thunder exploded above me. I was on the ground when a flash of lightening turned everything bright white. I got up suddenly realizing I had walked enough; the spot I was standing on was perfect. 

I dropped the backpack, opened the tripod and focused a shaking camera. I thought the camera and bellows would fly off. I made two exposures, then the sand hit. I packed up and followed a best guess direction but was blinded by flying sand. There, above the desert, the air glowed dim gold; it was sunset. I walked west towards the gold light. Eventually I found Rt.-190 and followed the line of the road until I bumped into my truck.  

I sat exhausted, covered in sand. I watched lightening bolts thick as oak trees strike the desert. Back at Stovepipe, I spent the evening cleaning every item in my camera pack. Days later I was still removing sand from my ears. During that walk in the desert my hair stood on end in response to lightening bolts. The experience was magnificent.

Zabriskie Point Death Valley, Thunderstorms

I sat in my room, cleaning lenses and loading film holders. I stopped, for the 10th time and read the Death Valley Daily Report; “Morning Forecast; Severe Thunderstorms, Flash Flood Warnings”. I was tired from the days work and quickly fell asleep dreaming of… thunderstorms. 

The Big Ben wind-up rang at 4:15am. I dressed, grabbed loaded packs, cameras and gear and jumped in the truck. I drove to the registration desk for a cup of coffee with John and Phil, Stovepipe’s night crew. We looked up at the starless sky and made predictions. Storms were coming. The question was where to take the camera. I chose Zabriskie Point, hoping to photograph storms crossing the valley. On Rt. 190, I could see thunderheads gathering in the east, right were the sun would rise. It’s pointless to worry about light, better to appreciate what’s there than chase expectations. I worried anyway.

I pulled into a deserted Zabriskie parking lot, 20 minutes before sunrise. In ten minutes my 8X10 was up and Manley Beacon glowed on the ground glass. The valley and distant mountains were streaked in morning light as huge thunderheads flew above. I turned and watched the eastern peaks behind the camera. There just above the glow where the sun would clear the mountain peaks sat a collapsing patch of blue. I was hoping for just a moment of light on Manley Beacon. I placed the film holder in the camera, pulled the dark slide and waited for sunrise. For an instant there was light, everywhere. I made the two-second exposure you see.  Before I could replace the dark slide and turn the film holder, the clouds closed and light vanished. There would be no second chance.

I placed the tripod and camera on the ground as the wind accelerated. I was just in time. Powerful winds struck, pushing me over a 4-foot wall to a lower ledge. I missed by a foot falling another 15-feet. I got back over the wall grabbed the tripod and backpack and ran 200 yards to my truck. Bolts from above fell in all directions. I was carrying a 6-foot aluminum tripod in an open parking lot. Somehow I was not lit-up. 

When I got back to Stovepipe Wells, I ran into 2 photographers cleaning their 4X5 cameras. They had been working on the dunes… “Wow” they said, “you really missed it! was just incredible on the dunes!"…with one behind ya can’t ride two horses.

The Malostranská Prague Metro, 2002

I had come to Prague to work on the often photographed, Charles Bridge. I had decided to photograph during the pre-dawn hours. My misadventures and the cold were constant. At one point standing on the bridge the temperature dropped below -20ºF; I was freezing. The shutter on my 6X7 Pentax refused to open (or close) and the film advance lever snapped off in my hand. The camera had given up…

When the shutter went on strike and the lever snapped, so did I. I packed up and headed back to my room. Even wearing gloves, I had to use 2 lens cloths to hold the tripod…it was cold! I walked shivering through dark streets, the only light coming from the beautiful Prague streetlamps. I found the Metro entrance and stairway; inside the tunnels it was a bit warmer. I was alone on the Malostranská Station platform, cold, disappointed and waiting for a train.

I could not help but notice the reflections coming from the unusual station roof. Feeling warmer and inspiration returning…I decided to make some exposures at 1, 2 and 4 seconds to blur the arriving train. The shutter had warmed sufficiently, and I was able to advance the film with the remaining film advance “stump”. I made exposures as 5 different trains pulled in moving aside as soon as the doors opened.

I believe this image represents for me a strong visualization (As Ansel Adams so beautifully describes in his books). I had a clear concept at exposure, which guided development and printing. The resulting print was what I was “seeing” when I placed the tripod on the platform.

On Mother’s Day 2004, I decided to make a “corresponding” image on the 34th Street, Pennsylvania Station subway platform in NYC. I ended up arrested, placed in handcuffs and sitting in the back of squad car, headed to the Canal St. holding cell. I was detained and given a summons, guilty of photographing without a permit. I sat in a holding cell for 90 minutes and was “checked out”. Fortunately, I was wearing a New York Yankees sweatshirt and qualified for improved treatment. On the way to the station, I passed the home of dear friends and saw them returning from a trip to England. I was unable to wave.

Clearing Storm and Stream, Merced County, CA, 1998

In the summer of 1998, I was returning to San Francisco from Death Valley, taking a route through Yosemite. The Sierra Nevada had been lashed by powerful storms that brought heavy snow and rain. In Death Valley, I had learned firsthand the true meaning of flash flood warnings—rivers of mud and rock moving with terrifying speed, capable of engulfing a car in moments.

Traveling north on US 395 and then west on Route 120, I arrived in Yosemite to find the valley drenched and muddy, with the snow line high above at 8,000 feet. After some early morning photography, I decided to head home. By then, the storms that had soaked California were beginning to clear, revealing dramatic cloud formations through the car windows. As I drove, captivated by the shifting skies, I unconsciously slowed to a crawl, earning some… colorful feedback from fellow drivers.

On a whim, I turned into a state park off Route 120, situated alongside a stream that had completely overrun its banks. What was normally a tranquil spot for fishing had transformed into a flooded expanse, with a small dry island visible in the distance. Determined, I chanced driving my truck through the floodwaters. To my amazement, bass leaped over the hood in silvery arcs as I made my way across—an unforgettable sight for a kid from Brooklyn.

Once I reached the dry patch, I set up my tripod and 8x10 camera on a stable mound. The clearing storm and the swollen stream came together in perfect harmony for this photograph. This image captures a moment of a passing storm.

The Dune and the Mirror, 1996

The dune awoke in moonlight, its voice a thread of wind-blown sand rising through the night and whispering.

“Moon, stay and rest. The morning will come not gray but filled with stars. There, I would lie beneath the cool touch of your white hand. So gentle beneath quiet silver. My sands dance on breaths of wind, shimmering veils graced in your light.”

“Dune, I fly in that wind which shaped you. You see a mirror that passes, shining through the night.”

“Moon, you are the one exquisite light, cool, gentle, gracing all in shades of gray. Day comes brilliant, and you and my dream will fade.”

“Dune, do you not see me? A mirror reflecting the light we are born of. We are born in that light, it was born in first light and moment, when God created time and place.

I am as all things have been, as they are, and will be—a mirror reflecting the light of creation, shining across the infinite.”

The Sand Sea

In this image, three mountains in the background resemble the pyramids of Egypt, suggesting that ancient builders may have drawn inspiration from such natural formations. The mountains are larger at their base and like pyramids become smaller at the top. In order to support the weight of huge stones at the top, the area must become smaller as it rises. Mountains and pyramids.

The foreground features undulating sand dunes, which mimic the fluid dynamics of ocean waves, albeit at a much slower pace. This resemblance highlights how granular materials like sand can exhibit wave-like behavior under the influence of wind, heat and gravity.

My hope was to capture these underlying patterns and connections in nature, offering viewers a glimpse manifestations of underlying interactions.

Woman at Sunrise

"Woman at Sunrise". The Beautiful feminine everywhere, all aspects of life. Its effect, attracting the male version for reproduction. When I walk along the dunes seeking an image, I look for these feminine shapes. If I think less of composition from the perspective of left brain (words-talking) and more from the perspective of right brain ( feeling-excitement-inspiration) I feel these shapes, physically, and emotionally.It is my hope that someone else may see the continuity in nature. The Sun, photons traveling some 93 million miles. to my eye and camera lens…miraculous

Thunder Storm Crossing Death Valley

I drove north on Saline Valley Rd, in predawn gray. I wandered over Hunter Mountain pass and through Hidden Valley. I was chasing hopes and thunderstorms, both born above the Sierra and flying across Death Valley. 

At Tea Kettle Junction, I turned left towards “Racetrack” (in my opinion an unfortunate name for an ancient and beautiful place). I made a few exposures under heavy skies. There was a soft illumination revealing the playa and rock in dark gray and silver. 

I packed up the 8X10 and realized I was tired of rough road and wanted nothing more than my room and a shower at Stovepipe. I passed “The Uhebehe Volcanic” formation around 3:30-pm and after 9 hours; I was back on paved road. 

I came up to the junction of Rt. 190; a powerful thunderstorm was about to cross the northern portion of Death Valley. Realizing there was little time, I raced along the highway looking for something to place in front of the sky and storm. I parked and carried the 8X10 onto the valley floor. I figured…death by lightening bolt, would be quick. 

You can see the salt creek formations in the foreground winding into the valley. The crossing thunderstorm was about to disappear very near Telescope Peak. I missed by seconds a chance to photograph my first lightening bolt. It struck during the exposure just outside the frame… “the one that got away”.

I pulled into Stovepipe’s registration desk to let them know I was back…I was 90 minutes late. “Well…we were just about to send out the rangers and bring back what ever was left”. I thanked them and apologized for being late… They watch out for folks, at Stovepipe, especially photographers as Death Valley is well named.