First Post, Third Blog

I think this is about the third time I have tried to start a photo blog. I remember doing it for the first time about a year ago, when I got back from a workshop in New Orleans with a photographer there, and I was determined to do all the necessary things to "put myself out there." Since I had no website, starting a blog was on the top of my list, even though I really didn't have much work I was proud of, nor did I genuinely feel that love of photography that has seeped under my skin over the last year, since I've gotten more "serious." I think the most important thing I have learned since then is that this profession, or passion--I am starting to make less and less of a distinction, simply because that distinction feels less and less relevant to my life--has to inspire me emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually, in order for me to A) make pictures that I care about and B) sustain me in my various photography-related practices, to feel like they are worth my while, from getting out the door to shoot, to digital workflow, getting into the darkroom to process, print, and scrutinize my film-based photographs, going to class, or doing things to promote myself, like writing this blog.

I am working on filling in some technical holes right now, from gaining a better understanding of light, design, color, the zone system (dear Lord...), to making friends with the studio, experimenting with different films, cameras, developers, et cetera. Sometimes the technical stuff starts to feel too much like work, and I get impatient, because I don't want work to feel like work. Tomorrow I have to shoot a gray card five times at different exposures and measure the density of the film. How can I make this interesting to myself? I think the answer lies in one of the reasons I am attracted to such a technical art form in the first place: paradoxically, it gives me pleasure because it bores me, and I appreciate the challenge of the boredom. It gives me the opportunity to slow down, breathe, feel things with my hands, look closely, cultivate patience, extreme patience sometimes. But it doesn't just feel like it's "good for me," like sitting uncomfortably in lotus position or imbibing foul-tasting medicine feels good for me--I am, on a good day, able to psych myself up about it enough that I enjoy it. On these days, I am able to allow myself to enjoy the weight of my camera, the satisfaction of loading film, tripping the shutter, the simple, visceral pleasures of the relationship between me and my camera. These small, simple moments are what, I believe, help me feel like I can fly when I am out in the field--help me achieve that unstoppable feeling like things can't help but line up in front of my viewfinder. That feeling, which used to be so rare but is becoming more and more frequent the more I shoot, is my only reason for continuing to photograph.

I want to write about my experience at the Missouri Photo Workshop last week, but I know that's going to take a bit longer for me to make sense of, let alone in writing. All I will say right now was that it was an incredible experience that there's just about no way in hell I would repeat, but I would recommend it to pretty much any photographer who really wants to challenge him or herself to move FAR beyond his or her perceived limits. This is one of the last pictures I took, of Tessa Bartlett and her father in the morning as he is taking her to school.

I have named this blog "Twelve Hours of Sunset" after a Roy Harper song that I was listening to when the idea occurred to me to start a blog again. Roy Harper's music helped me in a major way to rise to the occasion of the challenges of last week, along with being able to ride a bike around town, take little detours on my way to dreaded arguments with my editors, lie on cool grass while closing my eyes, and swimming at the hotel pool. Roy Harper was there with me through much of it, and I know he'll be there with me through so much more. Him and Joanna Newsom.