Blog Archives
being alone is all the hills can do
Sometimes the links that my brain forges between a photograph and a song are obscure, at best. Other times, they are painfully obvious.
This time it was “bein’ alone is all the hills can do” – from the song “Flying Shoes” by the amazingly talented Townes Van Zandt. I think this time the song selection was both of those things. OF COURSE I thought of “Flying Shoes” (who wouldn’t think of it?) but the exact line and its connection to the scene are a little more…fragile. Sort of like Townes was.
I took this photo while on a recent trip with Keith Skelton’s California Photography Workshops and Tours; we spent a fantastic few days shooting around the Salton Sea. And many thanks to Keith for his work as my photo assistant and shoe tosser.
Slab City, California
photographed 2.11.2022
that day we had winter
I had been wanting to photograph this scene for a few months. Every time I’d go by I’d say, “Next time I need to stop.” and then I never did. Then, on February 3, when there was a just a bit of snow, I did stop. And now that I think about it, this photo reminds me a lot of this one, from last month:
I think it’s that brown band at the horizon? Or maybe the fact that they are both in color? Or that they each have a mailbox? Or that my brain is sort of…different?
Lubbock County, Texas
photographed 2.3.2022
and 1.14.2022
Textures, matching
That’s the Dry Devils River*. And a weathered concrete bridge railing on South Concho Avenue. Over time, the textures of the two things have grown to mirror each other.
Sonora, Texas
photographed 1.27.2022
*Yes. The word “dry” is in the actual name of the river, if that tells you anything about its usual condition.
Diamond View
I had the idea that I needed to go look around my mother’s hometown. So I did.
Some people have the fondest of memories about things they did with their grandparents – storybook things like making cookies or going fishing or re-telling family tales or laughing or having that feeling of being loved no matter what. That is not my experience. I have a single, mostly spotty memory, of my grandmother and I decorating a birthday cake. And not one memory at all of doing anything with my grandfather. (I was a timid child and he scared me – he was gruff and said “goddam” and smoked cigarettes, and I wasn’t used to any of those things.)
So my childhood memories of this town are pretty limited. On this visit, the only way I could find their house was through a set of triangulations that involved a row of elm trees on the edge of a schoolyard and a memory of the path I walked from the house to the trees.
Nothing else seemed even vaguely familiar. But I’m not sure why I expected anything else, given my history with the place.
Sonora, Texas
photographed 1.27.2022
Wall of Many Colors
“What color is your place?”
“Yes.”
(an imaginary conversation)
Camp Wood, Texas
photographed 1.28.2022
One Day | One Image 