Ann-alog, a Pixel Remix, where Ann Torrence blogs about photographing for a book on U.S. Highway 89, the greatest road trip route in America. Photography tips, locations, trip reports, and real life.

Running the remuda*

Unless an author sells tens of thousands of copies, writing a book is not going to pay the bills. Breakthrough books from unknown authors happen, but my US89 book, with its admittedly niche subject, was never intended to hit the NY Times best-seller list. Rather than just numbers of units sold, I envisioned my own definition of success for the project, one that focused on production quality and ultimately the enjoyment of my readers.

My vision was this: that somewhere on the highway, someone would buy my book, and it would be successful if it inspired my reader to visit a Highway 89 destination that I had photographed. On Monday, I met a wonderful woman and Twitter follower, who told me that she bought the book at the King's English Bookshopas a Christmas gift for her father. Dad, who lives in California, enjoyed it so much he is planning an extended family vacation somewhere on Highway 89. I'm calling that a victory. What's your definition of success today?

*Wranglers at the Rancho de los Caballeros in Wickenburg, Arizona run the horses through a corridor down the ranch property each morning to corrals where the dude ranching patrons saddle up. Maria Langer took me over to see the spectacle when I visited last week on a book-selling trip to Arizona.

Field irrigation near Escalante, Utah

I have long imagined photo of this kind of irrigation, back-lit, a regular scene in the rural west, except it's not any more. Lots of irrigators have switched to an overhead pivot design, which doesn't have the same look at all. And usually when I found some on U.S. Highway 89, the light was wrong, or the ones furthest from the fenceline were on, or a million other reasons. When I saw these in Escalante on our last trip, we had to stop. This is close to what I imagined (visualized or pre-visualized?), as far as the background would allow. Close, but not exactly right, so I'll keep looking next spring--irrigation season is over with today's first snowfall coming down. Soon it will be time to start looking for ice columns or glowing neon. There's always something to see if I look for it.

Desert Varnish

At the last minute, I signed up for the Michael Gordon/Guy Tal photography workshop on Creative Landscape Photography. I needed a "big think" about where I'm going with my photography now that the Highway 89 project is finished, and being around other photographers who wanted to focus on their own creativity sounded like a good environment for some introspective pondering.

One thing I didn't want to do was push. No "must-get" photos. No expectations to come back with a trophy shot. No expectations at all, except to show up on time and participate with the group.

Michael and Guy put on a well-organized, well-delivered series of sit-down talks, alternating with time in the field to make pictures. They did an outstanding job of selecting and scouting locations for various times of the day, and improvised with an entertaining option when the weather conditions ruled out the evening shooting plan on the second day.

The idea of teaching creativity is daunting. Michael and Guy shared a lot about their processes to get into a frame of mind to be creative. Some suggestions were quite simple, but hard to practice, like not raising the camera to eye until the mind had framed out the picture. And to enjoy the moment in the landscape, regardless of how the picture-taking was going.

My post-processing chops are pretty well-honed by now, but I picked up some tidbits while watching Guy step through his Lightroom moves; the lessons seemed well-targeted to the needs of the other participants, who were no raw beginners themselves. One of the most illuminating things Guy did was deconstruct a few of his own images.

Our pre-workshop assignment was to make several prints to share with the group. I decided to bring only work I'd done since finishing the shooting for both books. Just the process of selecting images for those prints gave me some huge insights to my gnawing dissatisfaction with my pictures this summer. No outdoor work, very little work undertaken for myself, after such a long period of shooting so exclusively for the stories I was telling. I made lots of pictures at and for photowalks and classes, other people's celebrations, and even my own milestones with Sagebrush Press, but with a certain randomness of subject. And I hadn't made an outdoor expedition since October of last year. That's way too long.

The famous quote by Minor White, "all photographs are selfportraits," can actually be a challenging idea, and one that I had never adopted as a tool I could use. As I pondered and listened to Guy and Michael over those four days, I shifted closer to the idea that the picture is as much my story of that relationship as it is of my subject. A deeper acceptance of that idea is bound to result in more satisfying (to me) pictures.

So with all that energy and insight from spending four days doing nothing but thinking and doing photography, I went home to repack for a second trip to southern Utah. And if I could recommend one thing to people thinking about doing a photography workshop, it is to make a plan before you go to get back in the field as soon as possible upon your return. Knowledge comes from repeated experience, and you want to reinforce all those new good thinking-habits right away.

On the second trip, I made fewer pictures, and for one whole day, I didn't make any pictures at all. But I am pleased with what I brought back, more so than in a long time. All the fresh air and exercise certainly helped keep my senses clear. More importantly, I had a stronger purpose in mind when I was making photographs. Regardless of outcome of any particular photo, finding my own path forward was worth the investment of time and resources. Workshops will work if you show up, check the ego, and let them. Thanks Michael and Guy for making it such a productive and delightful interlude in my life!

Ceiling detail, Cathedral of the Madeleine, Salt Lake City

Since December, I have been shooting for another book project. The Cathedral of the Madeleine will celebrate its centennial, and my friend Gary Topping, the diocesan archivist, is rewriting the history of the Cathedral. When Gary asked me to contribute the photos, I asked him if there weren't already enough architectural photos available, why not just use those? He insisted, so we focused on images that show a portrait of the community of faith, with the Cathedral as its home. We hope to have the book out in time for the big celebration in August.

From the first time we walked through the Cathedral to plan the project, I wanted to get this shot of the ceiling right at the crossing of nave and transcept. With a little insider help to get permission to approach the altar and place my camera, I shot this one tethered to my laptop so I could adjust the D700's settings and evaluate each frame without having to move the camera itself. I don't know that it will make it into the book, but I am very glad to have it.

I cannot imagine working on this project without the D700's low light capabilities. I have been collecting candids during various events that simply were not possible with the D2X. The Easter vigil is Saturday, and I am looking forward to seeing how it performs in the candlelight service.

The Cathedral welcomes visitors, and sometimes after Sunday services a volunteer gives a tour of the building. Gary tells me there are exactly 258 angels inside. I'm not going to try to photograph them all.

Monsoon clouds over Saguaro National Park

I came to Arizona with an agenda, a list of essential photos for the U.S. Highway 89 book project. I have a vision for the book, I can see it almost page-by-page. For the last 10 days, I have been knocking out pictures that fit into that overall vision. I can get overly task-oriented, to the point where, if I'm not careful I could miss out on other great pictures.

At Glacier National Park, I was intending to photograph the classic view of Grinnell Point at sunrise. Without any clouds, the scene is pedestrian, and the second morning I went out, the sky was "severe clear" over the lake. To the east, the clouds colored up spectacularly. So I walked over to where I could see the pretty sunrise, without intending to photograph it. Then I saw the reflection of the clouds over the creek and started shooting. The result is one of my favorite photos from the trip. Will it make it into the book? Probably not, but I'm glad to have it, and to have seen it that morning.

Similarly, I was wandering about Saguaro National Park last week in search of sunset location when a thunderstorm kicked up. This photo idea wasn't on the agenda either, but it was the one I wanted to make when I saw it. It might even make the final cut for the book, but I wasn't thinking of that at the time.

The lesson I'm learning out here is that, while the structure of the project helps set the compass for my work, I have to be willing to toss aside maps and checklists and trust my inner direction, if I'm going to make the kind of pictures I really want to make.

Once upon a time, all we had was film, and we had to wind it.

Aphotoeditor wrote a great post about why photographers should blog. I've got a fifth reason: the process of writing for is another method to improve and focus my own photography.

Louvre, Paris

To take a photograph is to align the head, the eye and the heart. It's a way of life.

- Henri Cartier-Bresson

I made this picture in July 2003, back in my old-school days of film. R was attending yet another important science meeting, and I had most of a week in Paris to wander about to shoot and visit the sites. Thanks to some fortunate scheduling, I was able to see an incredible retrospective of Henri Cartier-Bresson's work at the national library.

One afternoon, we went together to the Louvre and found Paris in a summer shower when we exited the museum. As we waited to see if the rain would lighten, I made some photos. I didn't have a tripod, but as I was working on lining up the architectural elements in the scene, my personal Cartier-Bresson moment happened. The thing I like most about this photo is how the curve of her umbrella echos the archway, and the postures of the loafing Frenchmen to the side. The colors on the film are uninteresting; I think it reads much better as a B&W.

I clearly remember seeing her step into the frame and open the umbrella, and timing my shutter as the composition elements came together. This particular image gave me a shot of courage to continue pursuing my passion for photography, and to make it a way of life.

Victoria & Chuck

Best wishes to Victoria and Chuck, married on 9 May 2008. The reception is tonight and I'm looking forward to it!

Bronc rider at North American Indian Days 2007, Browning, Montana

I once read an article (source forgotten, probably Birding) about a teacher preparing her preschoolers for an outing to the local aviary. Long before the field trip, each kid was equipped with a pair of binoculars (two toilet paper tubes taped together and a yarn neckstrap). As the students lay on the floor, she had them practice tracking birds with the binoculars by zipping a tissue-paper bird along a string suspended above the classroom. When the kids got to the aviary, they paid attention to the birds the teacher pointed out to them. Impressive results for zero optical elements in the binoculars and the native focusing ability of four year olds.

If looking through a cardboard tube changes the participatory experience for preschoolers, how does observing events through the viewfinder of my camera impact my own experience of the event itself? This question has been on my mind a lot as I have been collating images for my talk at the Moab Photo Symposium. I didn't need my archives to remind me of the extraordinary experiences my Highway 89 project has afforded me. But at the same time, I wonder what part of the experience of being there I may have missed through the crystal veil of the lens.

Photographing can give me a shot of courage (I forget to be afraid of flying when I'm shooting out the window, even if the pictures are useless) or serve as a convenient prop in an awkward moment (as official family reunion photographer you can escape boring conversations with distant relations). Mostly, the act of photographing has given me the license and spunk to push to the front of the action with brashness that surprises even me.

But the act of photographing has never been neutral to my experience at hand. Framing, composing, creating engages a different set of neurons than just observing. I've written before that I become strangely unverbal while shooting. Even more peculiar, I can stand in the cold for hours and not really feel it until after the gear is put up and I start to get warm, long after R has taken refuge in the truck, which is completely the opposite of our regular patterns, say when birding. If the act of creating impacts this basic brain processing, I can only assume that other parts of the perceptual experiences change. I wouldn't agree that my perception degrades, but it is different than when I set down the camera.

The thing is, I want it all: the photos and the raw, unfiltered experience. Sadly, I haven't perfected my avatar such that I might do two things at once, so I make choices, compromises. Simply training myself to photograph with both eyes open has helped me to stay tune with essence of the total experience. And when I am lucky enough to photograph a singular event (like the Indian Rodeo at North American Indian Days in Browning, Montana), I remind myself take a moment to lower the camera from my eye, to drop the crystal veil. Inhale the experience: smells, sounds, fill all the senses. Engage with my fellow participants, smile, laugh together. Just be present. Breathe. And then back to dance with the Nikon that brung me.

A Textorizer self-portrait

When I decided to really learn photography, I sat down and studied. I shot a lot of film, but also I read a lot of books. And practiced my Photoshop chops. I spent the three months in New Zealand cozied up with Martin Evening's Adobe Photoshop for Photographers (now updated for CS3), a laptop, and some sample images. My foundational knowledge is strong.

Not so my programming skills. I've never quite caught the desire to learn the fundamentals, but I want to make stuff work the way I want it to work when I want it. AKA dive right, damn the torpedos. Which is probably twice as hard, but in this instance, I prevailed.

ArtSpace entry during Gallery Stroll

Bryan and Scott covered the who-what-when-where of photowalking last Friday night. I for one was very happy about the weather. Check out the Flickr pool for more shots. What I want to talk about is first impressions on my new Canon G9.

Does anyone besides me shut down the verbal brain when making pictures?

Ctein talks about a mental on-switch in The Online Photographer, and I know just what he means. He says:

But time and again, I discover (generally in an embarrassing lapse of social custom) that I cannot speak coherently while shooting. Don't ask me anything more complicated than "what time is it?" if I'm composing. Words don't form, much less sentences. I can barely name the thing I want out of my bag. Appparently, I can visualize and verbalize, but not at the same time. Step back from the tripod and mentally refocus a second, and I'm back to a functioning member of society. I can switch, but not multitask. The one exception is interacting with a subject, which requires an order of magnitude more mental energy. I've watched and admired other photographers who can carry on a conversation with by-standers while shooting, but it's just not in my skill set. Odd, but not a problem, so long as I remember it's normal for me. Own it, use it and move on.

I photograph precisely because I like the perceptual shifts I experience in the visualization process. It's good exercise to stay in "on-mode" even when the camera is in the bag. Visualizing while sorting laundry, or getting soda at 7-11. Kind of like other forms of exercise. I know it's good for me, and I should do more of it. The camera allows/encourages/forces a new way of seeing, but it's not essential, any more than a poet needs a pen to craft a poem. It helps though.

Jaquee takes her first steps into the circle of marriage

After exchanging rings, the bride and groom perambulated the officiant with the candle four times, while prayers were said for four aspects of their future happiness. To symbolize the graceful dance of marriage, the couple alternated leading and following each other.

This picture captures just how much Jaquee enjoyed her own wedding. The celebration of the love she and Sol share absolutely pops out of the photos - I know they'll be excited when they get to see them!

Jaquee and Bryan's self portraiture

The cake had been cut, the toasts well-cheered, and Bryan could relax with his friend the bride.

We're using Bryan's flash for the main light, exposure balanced to the room light. I just turned off my flash for the shot, dialed in a suffienctly long exposure so that my shutter was open when his flash fired. A natural extension of working with the Pocket Wizards, only I didn't feel like setting up the PWs to his flash. Which wouldn't have worked anyway, since he was in fact making self-portraits at the time.

Jaquee and Sol asked Bryan to photograph their wedding. Bryan invited me along to help with the gig - a classy party up at Alta Lodge. Some unusual (for Utah) aspects, like the bride descending the stairs to the bellowing of a conch shell, and a Tibetan chant in mid-ceremony, but Jaquee and Sol's love for each other would have shone out in a city hall quickee marriage. J&S: Thanks for letting me be a part of your wonderful day!

Metadata
Nikon D2x
28-70 f/2.8
.3 s at f/4.0
ISO Speed Ratings 400
focal length 35mm

The Vermillion Cliffs from the Hwy 89 viewpoint north of Bitter Springs

I spent this week alternating among book chapter edits, the shocking backlog of Photoshop work, and the downright appalling backlog of housework. Progress, but no completion on any of those task list items.

I found a parking spot with a broken meter at the library on Wednesday. Usually I have to run out every two hours to feed the meter, since the truck won't fit in the underground parking. Without fear of the parking enforcement golf cart, I spent hours tracking down facts I wanted to double-check. How many people drowned at Lee's Ferry before the Marble Canyon Bridge opened in 1929? (Eleven.) Interesting things like that.

I photographed the images for this view of the Vermillion Cliffs on my Tucson trip back in April on the way to Flagstaff in July. I had to check the dates on the original files--I've been so many places since April, I can't remember when I was where. The final image is a 6000x4000 pixel panorama stitched from three images. I use Photoshop's Photomerge to align the images, but I select the "keep as layers" option. Then I do my own masking to make seamless transitions. It makes a bigger, but better file. I could wrap my truck with a print from this file. I could turn the exterior of my house into a billboard with it.

Housework gives me a head-clearing break from my computer. Or so goes the theory. I did spent time this week with the vacuum, the mop, the scrub brush. But then Nikon and UPS surprised me yesterday with the early return of the repaired D2X. Broken aperature lever, an all-too-common, non-warranty repair. "Only" $400. When I approved the estimate on Wednesday, the technician said it would take 7-10 business days, so I was somewhat shocked to open the door yesterday (48 hours later) and find a box on my porch.

It's back, it works, and I have pictures to make. Those aspens are going to turn fall colors from Babb, Montana to Flagstaff, Arizona. Actually, all the way to the Santa Catalina mountains above Tucson, but that far south is over the top. Even for me. Time to get out the maps and plot my next course. With enough down time so Mr. Mop doesn't stay in the closet until November, so I can finish that chapter, so my friends will remember my name.

Sunset as metaphor for a happy ending

This is a story about how a business can win a client. Or lose one.