It is painfully obvious to me that it's been 2 months since last I posted. There's not much to say about it beyond the obvious: I'm just too busy with a demanding job that requires loads of travel. I make the conscious decision every weekend to spend every moment I can with my family and photography and blogging simply haven't been the priority that maybe they should.
Yet perhaps I should mention that the purpose of this blog is primarily a forcing mechanism for me to reflect on my photography and my experiences. It's nice to share with other people and I'm always extremely flattered by the responses I receive, but the purpose, first and foremost of both photography and this blog is to be mindful.
Photography is a forcing mechanism for me to interact with my environment in a very tangible way, to frame, to reflect and to experience. It's no coincidence that, upon reflection, I've undoubtedly felt more stress not photographing than spending a few more sleepless hours taking photographs and worrying about the exhaustion later.
Back to the purpose
And so, if the purpose of this website is to reflect and to reconnect with places I've been via my images, then I think it's high time that I do so and do so more often. As I dig through the archives from December of 2012, I am utterly blown away by the collection of images. I don't mean this to say that I'm some great photographer, but rather the collection of experiences the represent is unbelievably rich to me now. Valerie and I knew what was coming and we grabbed California, Arizona and points between by the horns in one of our last months out west.
The point of this blog is to use images to reconnect with what Galen Rowell called pools of memories through a visual language that's part color and shadow, part shape, and part shared experience. These images of a misty morning along the park road in Yosemite Valley rekindle in me memories of a time when it was normal to take a weekend trip to a place of unparalleled beauty, of a time when the mountains of California truly felt like home, but also to a deeper set of memories of misty mornings in western Michigan with my mother and father and siblings, of foggy mornings playing in the yard in my suburban childhood home, and perhaps even of memories deeper still. Memories from some shared unconscious of fog and of the geosmin-scented breath of the earth, awakened by the winter sun along the rivers and meadows where our ancestors—unnamed and unremembered—began the unbroken chain that's brought you and I and everyone we know to today.