The View From Here - April 2013

Mt. St. Helens. 1995. from With a New Eye: The Digital National Parks Project.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

The Connected Photograph

For years I've been talking about the idea of a "connected photograph," an image that exists not only in its space as a visual, and hopefully heartfelt record of what seduced ours eyes into making a photograph, but also as a connection to the place, time and technology embedded in the image.

I find the idea very seductive of linking a photograph that I care very much about, with the surrounding information now automatically generated by digital cameras, and augmenting that information where possible. Time, date and means of exposure are useful, the technical information regarding lens, focal length, aperture, shutter speed, metering modes, exposure compensation, all of which are gathered automatically now. These data points can be deeply useful in trying to determine technical success of a challenging image, and should definitely be looked at when trying to analyze image quality, positive and negative.

Where We Were

I've long been intrigued by the GPS potential. Since the beginning of my project on the national parks, With a New Eye, I've carried a GPS receiver to log exact location. Early units had no digital compass as part of the data stream, so I carried a compass to record bearing as well.

The location and bearing can have all sorts of useful derivations. When used with good maps and mapping software like Google Earth, places and landforms in photographs can be identified and named better than the best note taking I've ever managed. This has proven deeply useful in as commonly traveled a place as Yellowstone and as remote as the Antarctic Peninsula.

In a recent essay, I also mentioned FlightAware as a way of knowing where your commercial flight aerial photographs were taken.

Where Were We

This information can be extraordinarily useful in rendering a better understanding of the geography of a space, both while present, which is becoming ever more possible, and later. Certainly, after the fact placing the photograph in time and space has some dynamic implications. I often use my photograph from the top of Mt. St. Helens as a great example of the photograph carrying its own aesthetic weight, but the context of the actual location dramatically deepening the power of the image.

The weather can often be determined later as well. Although much of environmental conditions might be obvious from the photograph itself, such as sunny or overcast. Temperature, wind direction and speed can also be aids in more fully understanding the scenes. For the most part, this information currently needs to be gathered independently and contemporarily with the image-making.

It is interesting that so much of this information is now automatically gathered by our cell phone cameras. Innovation often comes in the back door even as we lobby the big camera companies to build GPS into the professional cameras. Of course, for reasoning I don't quite understand, the first cameras with GPS built-in seem to be point and shoots rather than pro-bodies. Nikon has made connection with external GPS units as part of their strategy for awhile, Canon has made provisions in recent years.

As one of Canon's Explorers of Light, Canon will send in equipment to me through their CPS program, and I borrow equipment frequently for testing. I was most intrigued by their new EOS 6D and have been enjoying the built-in GPS and wireless connection. My iPad controlling the camera is fun and potentially useful.

In so many ways, I deeply believe we photograph to hold what we see, which is why I'm so conservative about photo manipulation and fakery. But frankly, it is a huge challenge to hold the wonder of the real world with our cameras. It takes very careful recording and a great deal of finesse in RAW interpretation and image processing to move the recorded view close to the experienced scene.

The Color of Light

One of the areas that continues to be a real challenge is getting the color right. I've talked a great deal about this over the years, and real progress has been made with better cameras, better White Balance controls and tools like the ColorChecker Passport and Adobe's DNG Profile Editor. But there is a missing component here that could be a great aid toward realism in photography, and that is the inclusion of a spectrophotometer in the camera itself.

I believe having a spectral measurement of the ambient light, knowing the real color characteristics of the camera, and being able to integrate those two real pieces of information into the basic interpretation of the photograph, could make real progress toward narrowing the gap between what we see and what we get. This won't fully account for the limitations of the single camera capture as opposed to the almost unbelievably sophisticated images our memory, eyes and brain can experience at the scene. But it could eliminate some big information gaps.

This is one of those issues where some companies have scoffed at the value of the added capability, but I believe some variant of this deeper color interpretation capability will not only come to be embedded in our cameras, but will make a big difference in our ability to be faithful to the wonder we see.

Of course, as I eluded to earlier, a spectral measurement of the light is just another useful piece of information. It cannot account for our own color adaptation to the scene and consequently what we actually "see," being a product of our eyes, our own internal "image processing" and our brain trying to adapt to different light conditions over time.



Mt. St. Helens View Rendered by Google Earth.

Rendering out photographic sites in software like Google Earth can give us an unparalleled sense of the geography of the scene. It is a remarkable tool, and of course, works best when you have the exact location of the image rather than just an approximation. However, it is amazing how close you can reason out your position by working with the software.

Interestingly enough, in trying to relocate to exact site of the photograph for this rendering, it appears as though it is no longer there, likely succumbed to the constant landslides we were seeing on the crater rim.

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Flora and Form Workshop Coming Up

Check out the Flora and Form  Workshop April 16-18, 2013 or May 16-18, 2013 at Shelldance Orchid Gardens. Any and all cameras welcome.

Shelldance Nursery. 2013.

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Latest Video Study: San Francisco Bay Bridge Light Show

Canon 1Dx video. 2013.

The View From Here - March 2013

Ice Sheet at Dawn. Merced River. Yosemite.. 2013

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

Redwoods, Flowers and Ice.

Themes can run strange as you start to look through recent work. The photographs may not be necessarily related except in the time frame you might have made them. But there are also times when visual relationships and sensitivities do suggest something going on bringing somewhat disparate work together. Sometimes only as timeline, sometimes an evolution of your current state of heart.

Those sequences of interests inevitably couple with what we notice in looking back at the photographs, picking out what we want to work on. That in and of itself can be interesting, because we don't just record our photographs, we have to decide to process them into more finished works. It becomes a continuum of selection and caring and that may be more revealing than a conscious effort to create a body of work.

So as I looked through photographs from the last month, I chose a few that moved me, some I wish were more successful, and some that sprung new ideas, and even a new workshop.

Yosemite in Winter Workshop. 2013.

The Yosemite in Winter Workshop

Our Yosemite Workshop last month went great, good people, comfortable weather and a wide variety of photographs were made. Moving through the park did bring back many memories of challenges and opportunities over the years. Yosemite Valley is a place full of photographic icons, which can prove challenging to see uniquely. We were somewhat amazed as we passed hundreds of people lined up to get a photograph of Horsetail Falls at sunset. For me, I think, the photograph would have been of the photographers.

Giant Sequoias are always dramatic, but very difficult to photograph in a way that communicates their grandeur accurately. Mid-19th century photographs often posed people next to the giant trees to portray their unbelievable size. Those photographs were documents for the most part, needed documents, and were amazing. Their immense scale is now well known. Seeing the trees for the first time overwhelms the viewer with that very size. Their reality is impressive. So our photographs now seem to strive to confirm their amazing scale, but not repeat the cliches', and make art as well. A big challenge, so to speak.

I'm not sure I've ever risen to the challenge, but thought I'd share a few recent photographs and past efforts to render these giants.

Bachelor and the Three Graces. Mariposa Grove in late afternoon light. 3 shot HDR file. 2013.

The photograph above works for me mostly as a memory jog of the light and scale. It is reasonably well-executed, but an obvious location, and an expected, even if natural composition. I am unmoved in the sense that I feel like I've seen many variations on it, from old hand-colored postcards to hundreds of advertisements over the years. Postcards and these trees have a long history together that continues.

Thanks to Ted Orland for the postcard above. His Man and Yosemite book is well worth checking out.

A few years back, working on the digital national parks project, With a New Eye, I also struggled with the Giant Sequoias with only ok results. The photographs are fine, but I've yet to make a photograph of these trees that even comes close to the emotional response of being in their presence.

By the way, check out the Save the Redwoods League.

Ice Yosemite Valley. 2013

Ice Crystalled Leaves near Merced River. Yosemite. 1977.

Ice in Yosemite has been another matter. Even early photographs from the 1970s revealed my fascination with ice in the park. This workshop proved again that for me that small scenes, like the ice, can often be as rewarding photographically as the iconic and massive rocks and cliffs of Yosemite's famous skyline. It's not that the tiny ice abstractions match the grandeur of Half Dome or El Capitan, but in the light-based world of the photographic image, beauty is not only derived from the spectacular, but also often from the small and humble scenes, and has little to do with scale.

We spent more time during our dawn session at the Merced River looking down at an icy eddy than staring up at the rather spectacular Yosemite Falls. Although the falls, cliffs, ice dune and frozen mist did get some deserved attention.

Succulent. 2013. iPhone Photograph.

Flora and Form

Before my friend Michael's memorial service last week, we sought solace in the natural beauty and form of wondrous flora by visiting our local orchid nursery.

An idea I had been considering for awhile arose once again, of putting a workshop together exploring the challenges and great opportunities of the natural form and photography. Fortunately, Shelldance Orchid Gardens agreed that it was a good idea and a new workshop was born.

Check out the Flora and Form  Workshop April 16-18, 2013 or May 16-18, 2013. Any and all cameras welcome.

Orchids. 2013.

Weird Plant. 2013. iPhone Photograph

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Michael Black

I lost a dear friend last week, my friend of 30 years, Michael Black. I first came to know Mike about 1984 as an advisor/helper/consultant on the Great Central Valley exhibition I did with my friend Robert Dawson. Michael had been working for years on native Salmon runs, their destruction and mismanagement. He taught as a visiting professor of political science at many universities and had written widely on the Salmon issue. Michael put together a Symposium on the Central Valley, its people, its water and agriculture during the Great Central Valley Project Exhibitions' run at the California Academy of Sciences in 1985.

Michael was a great humanitarian in his generosity of spirit, support for his friends and deep love of his 16 year old son. We lost Michael to a hit and run accident as he was walking back to his car from a nature walk in Santa Rosa California. Mike was 64 years old and was deeply loved by many friends. He was a fellow board member on the Pacifica Land Trust on which I serve.

I will miss his friendship, his appreciation for the natural world, his encouragement for my art, and his companionship that will now only be memories rather than plans.

The View From Here - February 2013

Hills, Zabriski Point. Death Valley. 2013.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

Journey of Remarkable Light and Form

The last few weeks have given me the pleasure of witnessing some truly remarkable light. Spending some time at the beach, on our way to our Death Valley workshop, in the park itself, coming up the eastern Sierra and then a quick trip to Yosemite, all within the last few weeks.

Spectral Breakout on Lenticular Cloudbank. Dawn Lone Pine on the Eastern Sierra. 2013

Death Valley was a reminder of the beauty of desert and the wonder of it as a place. This year brought some rain, beautiful light and skies that frankly will take some time to sort out, there are so many photographs I am looking at with interest.

On our way home from Death Valley, we stayed over at Lone Pine to see the moonset on the eastern Sierra crest. The moon setting at dawn was wonderful, even if a bit cold. But behind us to the east, a lenticular cloud had formed that I turned a 600mm lens toward, very near the rising sun.

At first glace, zooming in on the cloud bank was dramatic. Unexpectedly, a wonderous rainbow like spectral breakout was suddenly visiable around the cloud. It jumped out at me, quite unbelievably. My first thought was that the color ring was some artifact of the long optic pointing so near the rising sun. Then, as we looked closer, with only our eyes, we could barely make out the exact same color breakout on the cloud's edge. Although visible in the photograph, the effect pales in comparison to seeing the real thing.

Radio Telescopes along Owens River. Owens Valley Radio Observatory. Big Pine. 2013.

Driving up the eastern Sierra in the Owens Valley, through Lone Pine and past Manzanar, we noticed some satellite dishes on the east side of the valley.  One of our Death Valley Workshop students mentioned a radio observatory on the east side, and we appeared to have found it.

We took the first way in, though it felt like a back way. We followed a dirt road across the desert leading us up to the Owens River, just opposite the telescopes. It was an unusual mix of form with the winter desert brush, cottonwood trees, river cutting through and the space age construct plucked down in the landscape.

Highway 395 above Conway Summit near Mono Lake. 2013

The following weekend we couldn't resist a quick trip to Yosemite. It's only a little beyond a planned trip to see my sweet 85 year old mother, which made it good loop of love and beauty. As is almost always the case about Yosemite, I was treated to scenes I never imagined and a slightly deeper understanding of this so familiar place, enrichening my mind and heart.

Tree and Mist. Bridalveil Falls. Yosemite. 2013.

The waterfalls and bellowing mist from them are always part of my delight in Yosemite. In fact, falling water is almost synonymous with Yosemite Valley. When mixed with ice and cold, it can be almost other worldly and surprizing. Part of the delight in wandering the planet with a camera is just such surprize, even in places we think we know well.

Snow Dune. Yosemite Falls. 2013.

The sheets of misty water draping over a dune of ice at the base of Upper Yosemite Falls was amazing to watch. The pattern changed with every moment, leading to many stills, and some very graceful video.

Ribbon Falls Rainbow. Yosemite. 2013.

In looking though the photographs made last weekend, when we did the short swing through Yosemite, it made me particularly grateful for our Yosemite in Winter workshop coming right up. I'm anxious to go back and spend a few days. I know many of the people coming to the workshop and a few days spent with some fine people in such a special place sounds really good.

Full Moon Setting over Eastern Sierra. HDR with Canon 1Ds III and 600mm lens. 2013.

Moonring and Jupiter over Paso Robles. 2013.

Along the Coast

A recent trip to the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, brought another set of ongoing curiousities renewed. The Reserve is one of my local haunts here on the north peninsula coast near San Francisco. The extreme of compelling visuals I found those few weeks ago drew me deeply into a diversity of natural form. From the brilliantly lit cliffs above the tide pools to the oh so blue sky through the trees, and the intricate alien form of tide pool life, particularly the anemones. I was entranced.

Cliffside. Fitzgerald Reserve. 2013

There are some places that keep drawing you back, some out of convenience because they are nearby, and some you go to great lengths for. This stretch of coast, from San Francisco south to Santa Cruz, remains a road of refuge and heart engagement for me.

The Highway One Coastal Journey Workshop April 20-21 seemed worth a mention with these photographs that have stayed with me these last few weeks.

Anemone. Fitzgerald Reserve. 2013

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Death Valley Workshop 2013 Group Photo. Titus Canyon, Death Valley.

Our workshop Group Photo from Death Valley this year captured a moment of delight that in some ways summed up the wonderful light we had all day exploring Tutius Canyon, the road in from Nevada and wonderful Red Pass. We were contantly reaching for superlatives to describe what we were seeing, and feeling a heartfelt gratutude at being able to witness such beauty with the excitement at having a chance to photograph.

We didn't get everyone in the photo, but thanks to Fiona for capturing these wonderful expressions.

Irresistable Motion

Snow Dune Video. Yosemite Falls. 2013. Canon 1Dx, 600mm lens Stabilzed with YouTube Filter.

The View From Here - January 2013

Hills, Zabriski Point. Death Valley. 2012.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

The Solace of Natural Form and Open Spaces

The connection between our humanness and our planet is in many ways too obvious to even discuss. It is self-evident. I would think. But I know in my own life, it is something that easily slips away, lost in the daily tasks of our modern lives inundated by our creations. We value so many of our tools and toys, the very Mac Book I'm writing on now, or the smell of the coffee maker brewing a fresh pot. I am grateful for the shelter from the rain and cold, and the ability to transport myself to the redwoods or around the world in a very short time.

Without getting deep into our place in the world psychologically or philosophically, we do pay a price for our modernity. From a strictly experiential level, our sense of well being is obviously shaped by our daily surrounds. We strive to make our homes and workplaces comfortable, productive and life giving. My books, CDs, musical instruments are of value to me and make a difference in my daily life.

But it is also clear, that the connections to the source of everything, our very planet, can be easy to view as separate, as though we are separate. Of course we are not at all separate, and we know it. The challenges of making a living, spending time and doing right by our loved ones, rising to our own aspirations, financial, artistic, or spiritual can be all consuming. It can be so easy for the disconnect from the earth to take care of normal life, even where the other aspirations directly benefit from a plunge into a starry night or the deep woods, we don't give it the time.

Photography has played a critical role for me in engaged in the natural world, connected to the sun and stars, even when no photographs or cameras are involved.

There are senses of space and surrounds that become iconic as we experience them. Over time, they evolve into a kind of memory shorthand, where the smell and sound of a place can be called to mind with only a vague association. These memories become part of an underlying consciousness, almost iconic, certainly part of our inner romance with the ideal.

Death Valley from Dante's View. Quicktime VR. which may take time to load.
Click and drag Mouse to pan, or use left/right arrow keys, shift to zoom, control to zoom out.

The desert is one of those places, full of light, space and dust, dry air, uncanny silence, an echoing ring to the rocks as our own footsteps knock them against each other...a dryness you can almost smell, mixed in with the sounds of a bird's wings pulling itselve through the air. I can feel the desert in my skin, even without heat. The air is dry. You can taste it.

But it is the open space and vast distances I've experienced in the desert that have been most profound. There are not many places you can see almost 100 miles. In Death Valley I have. It makes an impression, not only about the size of the place, but about my own smallness.

Playing off the differences in these natural environments is inevitably part of the photographic experience. We get pulled to these different environments, we keep trying to encode their realities into our images. Reaching for the camera is instinctive as we witness the remarkable, dramatic or sublime. The camera isn't always there, but I hope my heart always is.

Landscape photography sometimes seems like the product-producing excuse for hanging out in wonderful places. And maybe it is. It is also transportive of more than just physically moving around. At its best, the photograph becomes an act of consideration and concentration that starts with giving the process intrinsic value, and continues through to a love of craft and beauty most often manifested in a print. All done best when slowing down, focusing on what is happening on the planet around you. I don't believe it comes out well when hoping for something else or being driven by dissatisfaction or impatience. It works best for me when I care about what I am seeing, and feel that calm of the time invested being deeply worthwhile.

It is after all a privilege to be witness to splendor and work your craft to hold an impression of the sacred light our miracle eyes manage to see.

Mono Lake and Paoha Island. 2012.

Standing near open water has become one of the life-sustaining natural experiences in my life. Watching the rhythm of the waves, the roll of surf, the very real huge spaces I can see, and the unimaginable space beyond. I always say that we are drawn to water not only because it is life-giving, but because at some level we sense that this is where we are from, still carrying the salt water of our origins in our blood to this day.

Living near the Pacific Ocean has been a passion of my adult life. It wasn't something I dreamed of, but rather kind of happened into by a series of choices. I could never have anticipated the role the sea has come to play in my life. It is a constant, the low level sound of surf is never far away, and becomes something like a sacred rhythm of the earth's breathing. The coastline is where I most frequently watch the sun set, walk under the stars and walk for the sheer pleasure of being outside. I spend great times there with my partner Fiona and our dog Sandy. The sea is a constant reminder of a living earth.

The surround and fecundity of the forest carries a sense of the tall and complex, mixed with strong scents of healthy trees and undergrowth, decay and new life everywhere. Forests are often filled with the sound of running water, birds and trees squeaking in the breeze, insects buzzing. It is both full of bigness and a curious closed-in surround without horizon. The forest can be a most curious place.

Forest. Pt. Reyes. 2012.

These are not small experiences. They may be quiet, or dramatic, but they are born from our core notions of the earth, of belonging to this planet, ultimately of having the solace of a home amid much disconnect and challenge.

I have no intention of raising praise for a our natural connections to a religious experience, although I understand how it is for some. I do however, want to remind myself through my writing, of the sensitivities and values that make me whole, and influence my work as an artist. Mostly I work by instinct, but naturally I also muse on my work, its place in my life, my values as expressed through my art, and how I want to spend the time and energy I have here, living and breathing on this planet.

I want to be immersed in the trees and mountains, the coast and surf, the desert sand and the sacred sun. I am very fortunate to have a partner who loves wandering the planet as well.

The View From Here - November 2012

Clouds and highway Over.... 2012.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

On Aerial Photography: Commercial Flights

I am a deep fan of aerial photography. I am always seeking a window seat and carrying my camera, as I have been for over 30 years.

Flying back from my recent east coast lecture tour, I looked into using an App from my iPad/iPhone called Fight Aware to track the route we flew. As I was exploring it, I noticed I could save the route as a Google Earth compatible .gmx file and save the times and location of the entire route,

San Francisco at Dawn. 2012.

This led me down a path of tracing back some photographs I made along the way of curious sites and some nice compositions. I now have the ability to determine locations, place names and some investigative opportunities to find out what on earth some of these markings on our earth actually were.

Baker Lake, Arkansas. 2012.

Razor Bluff, Colorado. 2012.

Flight Aware Route Screen.

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At The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City

A must see if you are in New York City, Faking it: Manipulated Photography Before Photoshop is a wonderful exhibition at the Met in NYC thruogh January 27, 2013.

Snapshot: Steve in the White House Press Room. 2012.

A West Wing White House Tour

While in Washington DC last week, I was fortunate to be able to tour the West Wing of the White House. It was amazing to look into the Oval Office and take in all that has happened there. The fate of our nation rests with decisions made in that room.

The Presidential election this year probably heightened that since of history. But I do find my mind keeps coming back to staring into that room, the Oval Office. The fact that it is smaller than all of the wide-angle photographs have suggested, the concrete non-emperor quality of ordinary old paint on old wood, the simple reality of the real space. We were not allowed to photograph on the tour, but the scene made a deep impression on me.

North Portico of the White House from the West Wing.2012.

Just moving around the White House, going in and leaving the tour, brought a core reality to the place that took myth and made the place real. Even the interrelationships of the rooms and space was surprising. It was hard not to photograph, as so much of what I saw contextualized spaces I had never before put together quite right. I was happy to make a few images outside and in the Press Room.

Like most any visitor to Washington DC, I am always taken by my first sighting of the Washington Monument. It seems from almost any view, I keep making photographs of the spire. To say that it's iconic is a bit obvious, but there is something singularly remarkable about it as a form and symbol. I get emotional at the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, and particularly at the Vietnam Veterans Wall. But there is something about this towering spire...

The Washington Monument from the Old Post Office. 2012.

The View From Here - September/October 2012

Tuolumne River. Tioga Meadows. Yosemite. 2012.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

Water 

I rarely know what these essays will turn toward, as I write from the photographs I make, and the experiences that evolve. Water reflections, movement, flow and its very precious nature seems to be holding my mind the last few days.

A few recent experiences contributed to this. A quick trip just before Labor Day to the high Sierra and Mono Lake brought me back to some deeply inspiring places. The lake water rising, reflections, the streams and rivers of the Sierra, all filled my head. The very life of water running brought relief from the desert heat. Then, just last week, a long awaited whale watch cruise into Monterey Bay with whales and dolphins moving through the blue-green Pacific brought water back into my head.

Last Light Cloud. Mono Lake. 2012.

The constant movement of water is one of its infinite fascinations. In photography, I never know exactly what the result of moving water will look like rendered. Whether it is ocean streaming off a Humpback Whale's fluke as it dives, the tumble of a waterfall, or the laminar flow of water in, and around dolphins speeding through their liquid world.

The dolphins were a great example. They played with the boat, racing along, round in front, speeding so fast it was impossible to understand how they could move so rapidly through the water. I wasn't fully prepared for the photographic opportunity, it all happened so quickly. I had carelessly left a slow card in the camera, and had only a very long lens handy when we encountered the dolphins. Sharp, carefully planned shots with real bursts of exposures, backed off in zoom were not going to happen. So I rolled with the abstraction of some blur and wildly improvisational compositions, largely out of necessity.

We were told they were Common Dolphins. We thought they were anything but.

Common Dolphins, Monterey Bay. 2012.

It reminded me of other experiences and photographs, of mammals, birds, water flow and reflections, even probably inspiring new work over the next few days where form and movement kept playing into the magic of water...

A few from the last two weeks, Monterey Bay, from the Russian River, and the Sonoma Coast seemed worth including here.

White Pelicans. Sonoma Coast. 2012.

Pelicans. Pescadero. 2012.

Great Blue Heron Landing on the Russian River. 2012.

Reflections and Granite Shoreline. Teneya Lake, Yosemite. 2012.

High Sierra and Tioga Pass

Driving over Tioga Pass in Yosemite is always special for me. I have to continually renew my connections to this road that takes me to 10,000 feet amid the mountains that have given me the greatest solace of my life. Just short of Tuolumne Meadows heading from the west is Teneya Lake which happened to have some unusual water color layers and reflections.

Mono Lake

No visit ever fails to deepen my fascination and appreciation of the wonder of Mono Lake. It is curious to see the lake rise and re-flood so many of the familiar tufa formation we came to love. We hoped this would happen, as it is critical for the lake's vitality as an eco-system.

But as trails get reworked and formations start to return to the water of their birth, I am also reminded that getting to know many of these places was a fluke of careless water diversions. Watching them start to disappear under Mono's ancient waters is simply the right course for this precious resource. It does also give us a short window (hopefully) to still see some of these magnificent formations.

Join us if you can on our Mono Lake and the Eastern Sierra Workshop October 13-16, 2012.

Submerging Tufa Towers. Mono Lake. 2012

Last week, revisiting Lee Vining Creek, one of Mono Lake's feeder streams, reminded me of some video I made last year which took me down a meditative path of water movement poetry. Here it is, unedited, for whatever transportive qualities it may have for you.

Lee Vining Creek. Mono Lake. 2011. Canon 5dII. (streaming may be slow)