Stephen Johnson Photography Blog: The View From Here

Clouds over Mono. 2011.

THE VIEW FROM HERE
by Stephen Johnson

On the East Desert of the West

The eastern Sierra almost doesn't seem like California. Although our state is many things, coast, forest, towering granite peaks, world-famous cities, huge tracks of big agriculture, it is also the home of many deserts and transitional zones from mountains to arid high elevation lands that give life to the the oldest living beings on the planet and once fertile valleys turned to desert by diversions of their life-giving water.

It is in this setting that we explored the high Sierra and the lands below and east in our High and Eastern Sierraworkshop in late August. It was a challenging scenery in the sense of scale and wonder being reduced to 2D photo renderings, but a great set of opportunities to explore this environment and transitions of light-defined-form from the conceptual knowledge of what we were seeing. Ideas about big spaces, huge scale and arid high altitude lands are one thing, being there photographically was another. Those challenges are no small part of what I work with in a workshop and the ideas we explore.

We started on the shores of Mono Lake and my At Mono Lake exhibition, explaining the place, and my environmental work in the area. The exhibition allowed us to talk about design, simplicity and other renderings of the very place we were exploring, in some fundamental ways that I've found to be a great asset to my Mono Lake workshops.

We then went up to the Yosemite high country at Tuolumne Meadows. We wandered a bit, got lost in form and color, the clear air and layers of meadows, rocks, grasses and melted snow flowing over orange-brown streambeds.

Grasses and Reflections, Yosemite, CA. 2011.

The crystallized lava field at Devil's Postpile was next on our workshop. Arriving in the morning helped us record the columns in a way I had not been able to on a previous trip. The west facing exposed verticals had not yet been lit by the morning light and we were able to see that form simply for what it was in the soft shade. The sunlight cresting over the ridge line was nice in the afternoon as well.

Further south we spent the day driving through the White Mountains, famous for their ancient Bristlecone Pine. The trees are endlessly fascinating, although often hard to photograph, particularly in sunlight where the patches of sunlight and shadow can overwhelm the sensual and twisted form of the aged wood. They are always beautiful and intriguing, but I would love to also see them in fog. As a teaching demo, I did one HDR set with my students to hold the extremes of light and dark, in order to create a less contrasty interpretation.

Bristlecone Pine Detail. White Mountains. 2011.

On this trip, we drove deeper into the Whites than I had in previous trips and discovered a realm of painted hills and otherworldly vistas that tugged on our imaginations. The road ends at the gate to a University of California Research Station deep into the range. It is a vast space, and one very worthy of the time it takes to get up there.

White Mountains. 2011.

South from Bishop on our way to Lone Pine, I had planned a stop at the Japanese-American Internment Camp at Manzanar. I had been by to pay my respects around 30 years ago, and had not realized a Manzanar National Historic Site had been created featuring a Visitors Center with great interpretation. The site is now well documented with many elements restored. I confess to tears at re-reading the story of these disrupted lives, loss of property and impressive coping of these Americans during World War II.

We spent our week along the eastern Sierran escarpment, a very dramatic line of mountains, extending from the southern Owens Valley all they way up to the Mono Basin. Near Lone Pine is the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states, Mt. Whitney at over 14,500 feet, rising almost 2 miles above the valley below. Although it is part of granite wave that makes the actual peak merely part of a continuum, the rising Sierra from the desert valley below is melodrama on steroids.

Whitney Crest. Lone Pine, CA. 2011.

From the morning sun of the Whitney Crest, to the boulder-strewn wild forms of the Alabama Hills along Movie Road, the landscapes around Lone Pine are dramatic and accessible. After many hours out, we went back into town for some refreshment, but having found a garden seating and some pitchers, the skyline was beckoning to the west, and it wasn't long before I was heading back into the hills with an afternoon sky that was putting on a performance of ever warmer light beams, mist and clouds that I had to get back to. (see this month's Featured Print)

Organic Clouds and a Body of Work

Walking the trail up to Panum Crater at Mono Lake, I noticed some amazing clouds starting to form. As we walked on toward the top of the crater, the clouds got wilder and wilder. I found myself completely seduced by their grace, intricacy and living form. The winds were changing their appearance so quickly that they seemed alive, literally evolving before my eyes.

After a few minutes I realized I was in the process of making a series of misty life-like forms blowing over the skies of my old friend Mono Lake. A small body of work was playing itself out right before my eyes, linking with the hundreds of aerial cloud images I've been making for decades. It was quite satisfying, and instantly encouraging of delving deeper into the seeing, on the spot, with no intention whatsoever.

It was amazing to watch.

I suppose I am always in search of context, in a somewhat curious state of my mind, shifting through information and stimulus trying to sort it out, to see how it all fits together. I think most of us are doing that all of the time. If we are engaged in creative activities we are likely to be assembling the input into manifestations related to that expression. It is certainly true for me visually with photography. It is also true for me when succinct phrases come to mind that could evolve into song lyrics.

Those clouds over Panum were a powerful contextualizing opportunity for so many organic forms I've seen and recorded over the decades. The aerial work of cloud design and abstraction for sure, but the graceful sensual expression of natural form that is so core to my work as well. The fact that a small series is possible in one afternoon was a wonderful conclusion and goes some real distance to that question we are all asking ourselves, of what do we do with our work. Seeing it as a body of expression is a step toward organizing the work into presentations, web galleries, print on demand books, shows, etc.