Lauren has heard every story from my childhood trips to Yosemite. 17 times over. For my birthday this year we decided to add new chapters the mythical canon. Highlights included hiking Vernal Falls. Turning around while hiking Vernal Falls (sadly, the mist trail was closed). Following the river to the Ahwahnee. And the 18th telling of childhood stories.
More Yosemite after the break.
I sold myself short. At the end of Blackwelder St. Shapour sits outside at 3pm waiting for his driver. Rain or shine, torrid or tepid, he’s always out there. Dressed like a boss. One day I time it right and ask to take his portrait. Weeks go by, I print a few in the darkroom, and hope to give them to him the next time I see him. When I finally do, he asks “How much do I owe you?” What a sweet heart. I tell him nothing, and that it was a pleasure to take his photograph. He smiles and thumbs through the prints, stopping at the last one. It’s my favorite. An artsy little number that doesn’t include his face. “This one’s no good,” he says. I think to myself, “that’ll be $50.”
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What did we do? That was the name given to the Sunday BBQ after Lauren and I made it official. While the question was rhetorical, it didn’t really matter as the younger generation wasn’t ready to answer morning after, about the night before. Luckily, there’s no better remedy than pulled pork and shenanigans.
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I don’t often take selfies. But when I do, I get married shortly thereafter. Six months have passed since I took this photo and the emotions are still there. In fact, I had to stop writing this post just to sit in memories (which was a bit awkward as I’m currently on a plane filled with 300 of my closest friends). Now, we’ve all seen the beautiful work that Jean-Laurent captured, so I won’t try to reproduce what some have deemed “the most photographed wedding ever.” What I will do is share the few frames I managed to capture that day, and the thoughts that went through my mind. Hope you enjoy them as much as I still do.
More after the break.
I have a confession. I almost didn’t march. Go ahead. Judge me. I’ll wait. In all honestly, I didn’t realize what the marches were about. Yes, I can read, so I knew it was for women. But I was turned off by the idea of protesting for protesting’s sake. Spontaneous rallies had broken out Downtown earlier in the week, and while I supported the cause I hated the goons who used the opportunity to close freeways, scream at cops, and twiddle up their T-Shirts into muggers masks. None of that was experience at the women’s march. Not in the slightest.
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Saint Nick done good this year. In addition to everything on the wish list a minty Xpan appeared under the tree. OK, appeared might belittle the gift buying process. Regardless, I am the proud new owner of Hasselblad’s panorama picture making machine. To celebrate I thought I’d post images made with a different version of the same camera from New York (along with the SUPER wide 30mm—thank you Sarah Elliott!) I loved it back then, lusted for it ever since, and can’t wait to put this one through its paces.
More Xpan after the break.
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They say in the mountains the fish run free. Down by a creek engulfed in rock, trout glisten with hunger in early morning light. Two days and zero fish later, we call bullshit. But who can complain when a Dunn invites us to partake in family tradition?
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We didn’t have costumes. No buckets of candy neither. Instead we paired a gallon of cider with unrelenting desire to carve the shit out of some pumpkins.
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A van rumbles down the Outback Scenic Byway collecting high desert dust. She flips through stations fighting static. No luck. The fellow travelers offer no distraction, their lifeless bodies slumped in sleep. It has been lonely these three hours. They’re almost there.
Lakeview, Oregon. A place of little fanfare and even less sparkling water. Gravel pops as they pull into the motel. Hot springs will have to wait.
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I used to pray for waves. Then I bought a Nikonos. Don’t get me wrong, a long day of surf beats almost anything out there. It’s just green flags don’t spell doom anymore. Lake Laguna means I get to break out my diving buddy, and there’s something so appealing about this camera. You want to hold it, shoot it, generally drool over it (which you can, cause it’s waterproof). Remember those dinky disposable cameras they sell in Hawaiian gift shops? Remember daydreaming about shots that may or may not come out? This thing is that damn exciting, except you end up taking decent pictures.
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[gwu] Graham Whitaker Unterberger 