FIRST & LASTING IMPRESSIONS 7-22-07

March 10, 2008

TRIP-3 ENTRIES 2 OF 3

Hi!

As I drove into Colorado I felt the connection and also found myself creating some sort of separation simply because I was born, raised and lived there for so many years. Having crossed so many state lines lately it just seemed odd that this one would make any difference. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it felt different. Then I remembered that it was all in my mind. It had nothing to do with the environment. It was just something I made up to make sense of the world around me.

I remembered a picture I took not far from where I was driving. I have been using it for years in talks and articles to illustrate how “the eye is blind to what the mind can’t see.” It’s a horse, of course, but which way is the horse facing?* I love optical illusions. They remind me about the malleability of reality. When I remember that I am making up my picture of the world from my own lines of thought, life itself becomes the ultimate creative act.

Just before I hit Ft. Collins, on Hwy 285, the sun was about to set and it was about to get dark. I gave up any ideas about taking more pictures. I was sure if I headed East I would run into I-25 and make better time getting to Boulder. After all, I grew up here. I got lost. I found myself going around a large lake and was heading back North. When I looked over at the sunset on the lake I had to stop. As I got out of the car with my camera I realized that I hadn’t shot a picture of an actual sunset in years. I am usually looking in the other direction at the golden light falling on the environment. Which was exactly opposite of when I first started taking pictures. I was so seduced by the beauty that I never looked around. Now I can add this to the hundreds of sunset pictures I took in my twenties and look forward to, once again, observing that magical moment when the rotation of the earth obscures a star.

Still lost, I came upon yet another lake. Out of the corner of my eye some circles brought my tires to a stop. Two kids with innertubes were still playing in the water. The golden light was replaced by a shimmering silver that seemed just as precious. I got out my tripod and introduced myself to the group of people on the shore. I asked the man with the bicycle if I could take his silhouette with the two tubes. I took a few more shots from a distance and some close-ups of the trees. The kids got out of the water and I gave them each one of my prints. I got everyone’s email, thanked them and was back on my way having made making better use of my time getting to Boulder.

On my way to Evergreen to see my sister Eileen and her husband Jake, who is more like a brother, I stopped to see an old friend. Just off the road, just South of Boulder on Hwy 93 lives The Tree. It (It feels funny to call it an “it”. The stature of this being, standing alone on the hill, framed by an opening in The Rocky Mountains, seems silly.) has lived there for longer than I have been alive. I stopped hundreds of times for a visit on my travels to and from where my family lived on Lookout Mountain in Golden. I stopped while I was going to the same place when only my parents lived there and again when only my father lived there and again while he was about to die when I lived there. It was a good place to stop. The Tree has seen a lot and is a very good listener. I have hundreds of pictures of this fine individual in every season, during every part of the day. The shot on the bottom left was taken when we shared a view of a forest fire in Eldorado Canyon. The one on the right was taken at two in the morning when we celebrated New Year’s Day in 2001. In the quiet, as the camera shutter was open for ten minutes, we watched the full moon illuminate the ground as the clouds and stars flew by.

On the Forth of July I went to my friend Sherrie Hart’s annual party. When I come back to Boulder I try to spend some one on one time with different friends. It was great to see so many of my circle of artist friends that I’ve shared so much with in the thirty years I lived there. This is the first time we took a group portrait. After we got everybody in place, after I quit trying to get everybody to laugh and make it back to my place before the self-timer went off, after we waited for the dog to walk through the picture, we had a record of the event.

When I put this picture in the email and tried to see it through most of your eyes and I thought, “It looks like a group portrait of a bunch of people.” If you don’t know them, what interest could it possibly hold.

I’m noticing that I want to introduce each one. I could tell you what they do and the accolades they have received as radio host, film editor, realtor, one of the founders of Celestial Seasoning, inventor or the Wobble Wedge and artist of every other sort from bead work to monumental metal sculpture. But none of these people would define themselves simply by what they do. They are all individuals and each wears a number of different hats. There was very little talk at the party about work or even what we’ve been doing. I was more about life, the latest interesting thing someone heard or read, the light in Sherrie’s garden and how wonderful it was that we all got to see each other again.

Going on and on about each one would also create a bunch of words that would be just as overwhelming as looking at a bunch of faces. And, of course, I would have to leave somebody out. I didn’t even know everyone there. Take the guy in the red shirt. I don’t know what he does or his name. I do know that every time that I have seen him over the years that we just look at each other and smile. I’m happy to see him every time we meet.

The couple in front of the playhouse came right after the group photo. I took their picture from the same distance and Photoshopped them in later. They are two of the most unassuming and genuine people I have ever met. If you went on first impressions or by looking at the picture you would never guess that they created the playful and monumental artwork that hangs in the towering lobby of the Tokyo Bay Hilton. Check out the picture at the bottom of the email where I have included some websites of these most remarkable people.

Later that night I went to the fireworks with a woman who I used to live with and is still a dear friend. She’s also a great photographer who specializes in intimate portraits of flowers. It got stormy for a while and we even felt a few raindrops but it all cleared.

For the whole show I set my camera on the longest exposure (30 seconds) and played with various apertures. Then I just played. I zoomed in. I zoomed out. I took exposures while I was zooming. I handheld the camera and twisted and turned it during the exposure. I put the camera on a tripod, pointed it to the place where the fireworks filled the sky and pushed the button ever once in a while. There were even times when I remembered to just lay back on the grass and enjoy the show. At the end, all the simultaneous explosions completely obliterated every subtle shade and colorful highlight. The picture was completely overexposed. That’s Ok. I’ve learned that when I don’t have to have it all and I can treasure the beautiful parts that that is more than enough. It’s everything.

Thanks for joining me my friends. It’s always good to see you. If you received this from a friend and want to be added to the list send me an email. I will be delighted to include you. jd@jerrydownsphoto.com If you want to be removed just send a reply with “No Thanks” in the subject line. I will be crossing the state line of California into Oregon tomorrow and I’ll be gone for a week. We’ll talk again after I return. Until then………..

Let Your Light Shine!