Years ago, I became conscious of how architecture and design awaken the spirit.  And once the eyes open, we see the miracle of what happens when both the gesture of mechanics and light marry and become one.  When grace and form turn the utilitarian into the sublime.

In this case a bridge can figuratively connect one across the chasm of everyday life, to an inspired thought or way of seeing.  Or at the very least to an inspired morning in a photographer’s desert home town.

People-watching is an old pastime but does tend to get less interesting and less effective the older and more jaded I get.  Browsing the gift shops, spending money on over-priced gum, souvenir refrigerator magnets, or junk food.  There’s always watching the captions on the nearby TV, and if one is at McCarren or Reno/Tahoe Int’l (as I am now), you’ll have a continuous soundtrack of slot machine music and coins dropping in the background to accompany the CNN talking heads.  Window-hypnosis, as I call it, happens involuntarily after 8 days of near-sleepless days associated with the assignment.

Of course the most dependable form of unplanned time-consumption can be found in the untangling of the white earbud set that comes with the iPod/iPhone.  I’m convinced that the wires move on their own when we’re not watching and weave some of the world’s most complex knots of white labyrinth.  This endeavor, though relatively new in our history, is already a time-honored tradition that will last for years to come.  As I write this entry, I am fresh off my most recent bout with the ever-twisted clump of wires.  The good thing is that in my two-hour flight back home, I can be assured that when I sit in my seat and pull out the iPod again I’ll be good for another 10 minutes off the flight time, as I deal with today’s version of the Rubik’s Cube.  And like the Rubik’s Cube of my childhood, I have yet to master the activity, but am confident of the many future opportunities I’ll have to practice.

And the countless expendables: rolls of gaffers tape, black plastic, batteries, etc.  Most of these items generally sit off to the sidelines (or in the trunk of the car) during the shoot, ready to be called in at a moment’s notice like a backup quarterback waiting for a chance to play in the game.  Being a natural light shooter, most of the time the equipment is there for piece of mind, because I know that when I don’t bring it, I will need it.  It’s Murphy’s Law and at my age, I’ve made peace with it and no longer tempt fate like I might’ve in my wild, younger days.

I also make peace with the idea that for the 48 hours prior to leaving, sleep will be reserved for the plane, because once you’re in your seat things take a life of their own and you are now in improvise mode should you have overlooked something, or if equipment goes down.  Of course once you hit 38,000 feet, everything looks different out the window.  You tend to stop thinking of all that could (and hardly ever does) go wrong, and you realize how little you actually are in the whole beautiful scheme of things.

RNL designed the Environmental Learning Center for Colorado State University, the City of Ft. Collins and the Colorado State Dept of Parks and Rec.  In addition to housing several school and municipal offices, the site also allows students and visitors walk the grounds and experience samples of the various local Colorado environments.  A great time to pull out the iPhone and see what was possible photographically, and of course a way to inevitably wind up screeching in to my scouting meeting, with not a minute to spare.

The approach is ultimately a matter of intent, not to mention personal preference and artistic license.  What is the purpose of the image?  Is it being lit for the sake of lighting and to show one’s own lighting abilities and photoshop skills, or is it to communicate design?  And lastly is it “true” to the designer’s vision?

For me, personally, photography has never been an endeavor done for the sake of itself.  I enjoy it, and have been doing it a while, but I don’t know that if I didn’t have a personal interest in what I was shooting, I would’ve stayed with it.  I just don’t have the attention span.  It doesn’t always need to be architecture, though it usually is, but without a love, fascination, concern, fear, respect or real appreciation for what I choose to shoot, photography can feel somewhat empty.  When I started out in photography, as a fine-art photographer, I wasn’t too concerned about truth.  I only cared about making an impression, and we all know how “truthful” those can be.  Very little sense of composition and no knowledge of the use of any kind of lighting, natural or supplemental.  But I knew what I wanted to shoot and what I liked to appear before me on that wet sheet of Fiber Based Ilford, bouncing side-to-side in a tray of Rodinal developer.

Mother and Child, 1993

Mother and Child detail, 1993

…TBC

While preparing for our first shoot of 2012, I looked out the window of my office and was struck by a renewed sense of appreciation that I am surprised by every year.  I’ve learned that winter in Colorado for an architectural photographer can certainly have it’s quiet times.  Much more so than at any other time of year.  And in the wake of  how extremely busy 2011 was, with it’s frequent 20-hour days and adrenaline-fueled deadlines, the silence can seem truly deafening.  Then again, it doesn’t take long to realize that there are opportunities to revisit things that might have been overlooked during the busier times, or that are unique to the December thru February months.  And though there are days when I think I’d give anything for a beautiful 85 degree day, there is a different kind of energy that just doesn’t exist during the summer.  And it starts with the winter daylight (a beautifully warm, rich, soft and low cross-light) that reconnects you with a landscape at rest.

Nature never stops, and while what’s in front of us may appear brown and dead, there is a peaceful quality of life in even that.  And with envy, and gratitude, I realize that nature never stops producing beauty.  It could serve well, to strive toward becoming more like it in that way.