To Paint

Over two years ago  Skagit Valley Artist Bill Slater passed after a prolonged bout with pancreatic cancer.  We had met at a party and exchanged phone numbers in agreement that I should visit his studio. Time passed and as opportunities often do ..it passed. Finally upon Bill’s death I visited his studio  sadly as a guest at his celebration of life party.

    In rememberance I photographed the whole affair and captured a number of fine portraits that I’ll be posting over the next number of days.

   Included  here is a link to a memorial slideshow I made . My ‘signature’ photo for the Cliffwalk which is the girl on the motorbike  which consequently is on my business cards was taken at this event. The author Tom Robbins “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues’ and Bill were close friends of over 40 years. Two southern gentleman that migrated to Washington State.  The cabin where this studio is located is on ‘Pull and be Damned’ road  near La Conner,Washington USA. Early on after their arrival in the early 70’s Bill was living on this site in a very rustic cabin with no electricty

 or  heat save a woodstove. Bill’s wife became pregnant and in true southern style Tom offered up his house in town so  Bill’s wife wouldn’t be uncomfortable during the pregnancy.  a good share of’Cowgirl’ was written in this cabin.

  Memorial Blog:  http://rverspirit.wordpress.com/

Roman Brides

This is a film photo taken in Italy in the mid nineties while on a one month excursion. Italian design and their intrinsic ability to blend the ancient with the new was a constant state of entertainment and pleasure for me. The lemons were just ripening in the trees in January in Rome.

 

   this was taken through a window  with some refracted lighting, hence the somewhat  out of focus image

   The concept of fresh lemons and window screen (spring summer symbolism)  tying to the  coming  wedding season was quite clever.

Tin Jesus

I found this in the little town of Sylvana Washington State USA. Though unable to prescribe to the mindset of the creator (no pun intended),   I certainly have a  soft spot for ‘folk art”  and

   can certainly appreciate  the craftsmanship and creative impulse to bring this  constuction to life.

Wonderland

 This was taken in  2007. I was driving home from work..when possible and time permitting  I would  try and get off on  country roads for the commute  . I came upon  a  recently burned out building ..infact it had  been a matter of days since the catastrophe took place.

  I sucummbed to a morbid lure and pulled off to the side of the road camera in hand. The lawn was strewn with  personal belongings organized by hasty retreat.It had rained overnight and every thing was damp. I suppose there is an irony in this  title……

Concrete Cadillac

…..[Last year, on the sun-spilled deck in Marin
we ate grapes with the Russians;
the KGB man fingered them quickly and dutifully,
then, in a sad tone to us
“We must not eat them so fast,
we wait in line so long for these,” he said. ]…
  excerpt from “Food’
  by Brenda Hillman

La Nina

  As a youth I was an intrepid traveler. Often times lighting out without a cent in my pocket. An army jacket,tennis shoes and a sleepingbag,and of course my thumb. It was not uncommon for me to ‘sing for my supper’ in a mission, a drunk on each arm. Mexico was a favorite destination for me . In   1973 I was traveling in the mountains near Tepic  on a second class bus, the only way in to Barre de Navidad (Christmas Reef) . Here I found this young lady ,fascinated with a ‘not seen often’ Gringo with a funny looking device  in his hands.  She was quite obliging of the moment,   all the while her mother keeping a close eye on the proceedings , not wanting to seem   to concerned.. This is not a sepia filtered. It is the original light inside the bus.

  Before the trip I had purchased an ‘antique’ 35 mm  camera at a junk shop for 5 dollars.Probably made in the 40’s I would say. It was ‘semi-automatic’  probably  one of the earliest of its kind. I bought some film for it and took it along to record my adventure.  I really didn’t know how to use it.  In ‘automatic ‘mode you had to adjust the f-stops So I cut the flap off the film box and taped it to the back of the camera. 

 The flap had  a coded  diagram that inluded a sun,a cloud over the sun, a moon..etc…etc,  this is how I new how to set the exposure for the shots.

  I scanned this in a professional  scanner at 400 dpi.and pp in CS3.

 

 

Snow Globe

Fir Island is renowned in the Pacific Northwest for  it’s inordinate amount of wintering bird and waterfowl.   This is a depiction of thousands of snowgeese as they swarm the island. When they rise it is much like the action in a ‘snowglobe’ after it is shaken. What can’t be described by this photo  is the  thundering cacophony that can be heard form a half mile away as they squawk   in a thousand voices. I shot this as I was leaving my home yesterday morning. My ‘backyard’ if you will.

Scarecrow

“Rain on the Scarecrow”

 

 John Mellencamp

Scarecrow on a wooden cross; blackbird in the barn;
Four-hundred empty acres that used to be my farm.
I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land;
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand.

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
This land fed a nation, this land made me proud;
And, son, I’m just sorry there’s no legacy for you now . . .
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.

The crops we grew last summer weren’t enough to pay the loans;
Couldn’t buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed.
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land;
He said John it’s just my job and I hope you understand.
Hey, calling it your job, ol’ hoss, sure don’t make it right,
But if you want me to I’ll say a prayer for your soul tonight.
And grandma’s on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand;
Sometimes I hear her singing “Take me to the Promised Land.”
When you take away a man’s dignity, he can’t work his fields and cows . . .

There’ll be blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.

Well there’s ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard—
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms.
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name,
And some nights I feel like dyin’, like that scarecrow in the rain.

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
This land fed a nation, this land made me proud;
And, son, I’m just sorry they’re just memories for you now . . .
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.