Banlieues: This street scene represents a fragment of what might one day be an exhibition of my recurring reactions to urban life. It was captured on one of our many visits to France over the years, when we happened to pass through Paris on a "pilgrimage" to Vincent van Gogh's last venue and burial place in nearby Auvers-sur-Oise. At the time of our visit in late 2005, France was experiencing troubled times regarding immigration issues, resulting in minority disturbances in some suburban areas, or "banlieues." Although this image appears to be a hurried "grab shot," I actually had quite a wait in order to record a juxtaposition of people and signs which reflected the tension in the air at the time of our visit.

Baucis & Philemon: One of my favorite myths to come down from ancient times was written by Ovid in his Metamorphoses about an elderly couple faithful to their beliefs in life and to one another right to the end of their days. For as long as I have been photographing, I have looked for appropriate material, metaphorical or otherwise, to "retell" this touching story visually. This springtime image of two crows hunkered down in a willow oak outside our bedroom window in Virginia is one of my many attempts to interpret this little known but enduring story of faith, hospitality and companionship. On an unrelated plane, the oriental brush painting feeling of this image continues to challenge me as a printer, albeit now in digital mode.

Behind The Scene: Here the camera, a consummate observer itself, captures the lovely wardrobe assistant for the short film entitled The 5:22, looking on as a scene is being shot for that film on the railway platform beyond. This scene takes place on a cool autumn evening in the old railroad station (now a museum) at Union, Illinois, where our subject serves so artlessly and gracefully as a metaphor for our largely universal aspirations for something else, beyond the reach of our own little stretch of reality. 

Bon Voyage: How different departures on grand ocean liners are from the days when I was a young child. Yet in some ways, nothing changes. Here, passengers still line the railings of the promenade deck, full of anticipation for the voyage ahead and exhilaration with the grand views afforded by their high and ever-changing vantage point. All the while the stalwart tug below plays its pivotal yet largely unappreciated role in getting the voyage underway.

Burgaud Cross: Rarely in my experience has flat, dreary weather played so appropriate a part in evoking a special poignancy to such a quiet and isolated a place as this. Other than the name at the base of this crucifix, I know nothing about it, except its location on the flat farmland overlooking the Oise River, technically in the small village of Valmondois, France. I cannot help but wonder how long it has stood there and what it has borne witness to passing by on that long, lonely road beyond. The cemetery at Auvers, containing the graves of Vincent and Theo van Gogh, is a little distance to the south of this scene.

Carriage Horse: Some years ago I was quite surprised when I first showed this image to our dear friend to whom this exhibition is dedicated. Although I knew Beverly had been a farmer's daughter as a youngster, I never imagined that she (or anyone in America anymore, for that matter) was so knowledgeable about the intricacies of harnesses, and how this rig differed from others designed to enable horses to accomplish other tasks on man's behalf. My unsophisticated eye sees these trappings only as metaphor for man's effort to bend nature to his will, sometimes, but not always, successfully. This image was probably subliminally inspired by those wonderful pictorial images of horses which appeared infrequently in Alfred Stieglitz's periodical, Camera Work, some 100 years ago now.

Dog's View of Man: This image was first captured in 1972, long before I became seriously obsessed with photography as an expressive medium. It does indicate, however, that my eye for irony and my mind for social commentary were already in development. For me, then and now, the urinary libations, howsoever contributed unwittingly and without bias by passing dogs, on the weighty affairs of men say it all.

Fallen Mum: An abbreviated view of one of the many "as is" flower arrangements which adorn our home, often for years on end. This was a recent arrangement at the time of exposure, with the chrysanthemum flowers just beginning to shatter. The naturally bending stem and falling petals of this flower put me in mind of the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, expressing the transience of life and the grace inherent in aging. 

Four Crows: One of a few images in this exhibition which has appeared on this web site before. It does so again because it is one of my favorite images; for several reasons. It is actually a very small part of a wall mural, at the former Lorton prison site, which portrayed Martin Luther King's I Have A Dream speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963. As I have completely desaturated the original color painting, at the same time emphasizing this very small element with a considerable change of scale through the magic of the camera, I humor myself that this image is a collaboration between the anonymous artist of the original wall mural and me. It also reminds me of some of Vincent van Gogh's last works in the fields above the town of Auvers-sur-Oise and our (his and mine) common affinity with crows. Although one might argue that these are not crows at all but some other species of bird, they are crows because I've said so.

Loch Shirra Bridge: A challenging landscape, given the relative flatness of both sky and water, and the rather narrow tonal variation throughout the scene. In critiquing this image some years ago, a well known landscape photographer (who shall remain nameless) suggested that it might have been more successful had a porpoise or some other creature splashed in the water in front of the bridge! How differently we all look at even the same thing! For me, the image appeals precisely because of the absence of any such distraction, allowing the mind to contemplate the symbolism provided by the emptiness, with only hints of the near and the far shores under the bridge...

One Man Band: Shadows, and their other playful cousins, reflections, never fail to attract my attention as a photographer, perhaps because they have a special ability to stimulate the imagination in ways not possible by viewing a subject directly. In this case, only the shadow of this one man band performing on the banks of the Seine would do; I felt no need to capture a more direct likeness of him and all of his instruments, and so I did not.

Retable d'Issenheim: This scene, representing the Temptation of Saint Anthony, is a small section of the back side of one of the more magnificent works of art to be produced in early 16th Century Europe. The museum in which this altarpiece is featured does not allow flash photography or the use of a tripod, so I had to do the best I could with natural light in order to get as clear a hand-held photograph as possible. The result is not too bad, for a 63 year-old pair of hands, even if I have to say so myself! I am indebted for the opportunity to make this image through the encouragement of our good friends, Evelyn and her late husband, Leon Zolondek, who in 2005 shanghaied us from nearby Basel for a day trip to Colmar solely to enjoy this fascinating work of art.

South Aisle, L'Abbaye de Fontenay: A number of scenes from this now World Heritage Site have appeared on this web site before. This particular image has long been a challenge to me because of the extremes in tonality represented, with few mid-tones to make the transition between the deepest shadows and the brightest highlights. I'm not sure the digital effort  presented here has satisfied my desire for closure with this image any more than traditional darkroom techniques have in the past. The mood and symbolism of the seemingly endless, receding bays of this church seem to compel me to continue my efforts...

South Portal Study #2: This image has appeared on this web site before, in the second exhibition devoted to Spanish Stonelight. Clearly, I have yet to satisfy my visual appetite for this exquisitely serene stone portrait. As with the French scene above, this image is a digitally modified version of the one which first appeared in the Spanish Stonelight series.

Staircase of the Lions: Simply an image I enjoy which has hitherto not found a place in any of my other exhibitions. This same subject, taken by another photographer from almost exactly the same vantage point, appeared in an exhibition (Cats and Dogs) at the Kathleen Ewing Gallery in Washington, D.C. some years ago. How similar and yet how different they were! In my interpretation, the wall in the background has been deliberately subdued in order to emphasize the balustrade and newels of the staircase.

Where Rangi and Papa Still Mingle: In making a somewhat begrudging return to color photography over the last several years, I have experimented considerably with varying degrees of desaturation of color images (they sometimes seem garish, after 15 years of printing almost exclusively in black-and-white). This image is a result of one such experiment. When Til and I visited Whaka, the weather was just beginning to clear, such that the gases from the thermal vents throughout this Maori village mingled almost imperceptibly with the low cloud formations overhead. Inspired by the Maori explanation of the Creation, I captured this fleeting image. According to Wikipedia's version of Maori belief, Ranginui (or Rangi, for short), the sky father, and Papatuanuku (or Papa, for short), the earth mother, were the primordial parents of all creation. In the beginning, they lay locked together in a tight embrace, with their many children, forced to live in the cramped darkness between them. As they grew older and became discontent with this situation, the children discussed amongst themselves what it might be like to live in the light. Tumatauenga, the fiercest of the children, proposed killing their parents in order to solve their predicament. But his brother Tanemahuta (or Tane, for short), god of forests and birds, suggested that it would be better to push them apart. The siblings put this plan to work. First, Rongo, god of cultivated food, then Tangaroa, god of the sea, working with his brother Haumiatiketike, god of wild food, tried in vain to push their parents apart. Finally, Tane himself, instead of standing upright and pushing with his hands as his brothers had done, lay on his back and pushed with his strong legs until, with cries of grief and surprise, Ranginui and Papatuanuku were pried apart. Is night simply a time when their children allow the primordial gods to re-embrace? And are geological hot spots such as active volcanoes or thermal vents places where Rangi and Papa may still mingle, even during the daytime, if their children aren’t looking?