Dunes, Death Valley, 2019

In April 2019, I went on a trip with Fin and Ruby, two of my four children, to California. We were meeting a third one, Ella, in Big Bear. At the beginning of the trip, just Fin and I went to Death Valley. During that part of the trip, we went to the Mesquite Sand Dunes twice. We went in the evening and then again before sunrise.

I had known about this place from famous photographers that came here before me. The first day we walked under blue skies and some clouds. I always wanted to make interesting sensual photographs of dunes. This was the place and time to do it. The light made the dunes come alive.

In the morning, we walked into the dune field in the dark. As the light came the shapes kept constantly changing. The sun, clouds and sand put on a spectacular show. Fin also photographed. We were not side by side. He went his own way. There were a few other photographers there that morning.

I find the photos from here to be among the most pleasing I ever taken.

Bloody Lane, Antietam 2023

In November of 2023, I stopped at Antietam. I wanted to see the physical land that this the most deadly battle in American history had taken place. I have always been interested in history. My masters was in history. The Civil War was one part of history that fascinated me.

I always remembered photographs of what was known at the time as the Sunken Road. After the battle it was know as Bloody Lane. The images are a haunting description of the wasted lives in war. “Dead Confederates lay so thick there, wrote one Federal soldier, that as far down the road as he could see, a man could have walked upon them without once touching ground.”

I felt very moved as I walked the lane on this beautiful fall day. It seemed almost impossible that such cruelty had taken place in such a beautiful place. But it had. There is no denying the history.

San Diego 1983

I was living here in the early eighties. At the time I was shooting my Tijuanna series. But I also still walked around with my Plaubel Makina 67 shooting color slides. I thought that I would be able to get the color I was dreaming about through this process. It never worked the way I wanted it to. I eventually switched to color negative film later in the decade. That worked much better for me.

 I love shooting everyday life. This photograph is a time capsule of the 1980s. Reading Sunday morning paper. House on the boardwalk in Mission Beach. Sunny California day. The shiny suit. Big glasses. Life was good.

Sculpture, Piatrasanta, Italy 1981

I spent the winter of 1981 traveling around Europe. My thinking back then was I wanted to make good memories while I was young. That way I would have good stories to tell when I was old. I am older now. I would say I have no regrets, but I do have one. I wish I was a better photographer back then. I was learning. It takes years to develop into a good photographer. I wish I wasn’t so worried about running out of film. I wish I had taken more photos. But I did what I did, and I have some photographs to show for it. And I have good memories.

One of my stops was in Pietrasanta, Italy. It is a small town on the west coast. It is near Florence. It is known for its sculpture. There are about fifty marble and bronze shops in town. Some of the world’s greatest artisans work here. Providence College had a summer art program there. The caretaker of the property was an artist, Joe Martel. He guided me around for a few days. It was an amazing experience.

Joe took me to this place where they make exact marble replicas of statues. At the time I was there, they were making a Michelangelo Pieta for the Vatican and a 17-foot Venus standing on a shell for a mall in California. The process involved making plaster casts from the original sculptures. These were brought back to the shop where the marble cutters would use them to make the replicas. When they were finished the plaster sculptures were just put into storerooms. These photographs are from those storerooms.

Approaching Storm, Narragansett Bay 2020

A very long time ago, as a teenager, I saw some paintings by Martin Johnson Heade. They were fascinating. He depicted an approaching storm on Narragansett Bay. The sky was very dark, almost black. The water was still. The storm had not reached the shore yet. From time to time I see a painting by him in a museum that is one version or another of the same idea.

I sometimes see things in museums and think I would like to do something like that. Most of the time, these are just fleeting thoughts. They disappear into the dark recesses of my mind. They can lay there for decades. Then one day it just happens.

I was on Prudence Island in the middle of Narragansett Bay. It had been a sunny hot summer day. The kind of day that would sometimes bring in a late afternoon thunderstorm. I knew the storm was coming. I thought that it would be a good time to go out to photograph. Sure enough, the storm rolled right over us. I took quite a few photographs.

In the moment I did not think of Heade’s paintings. But I certainly did when I got around to printing them. I love the dark sky moving in. The reflection of sun on the water. It was my Heade moment. That day I was just in my photo mode. Just letting the visual work through me without much conscious thought. I wonder if somehow in an unconscious way the Heade paintings I had seen throughout my days affected the way these photographs turned out.

Three Buffalo, Caprock Canyon State Park, Texas 2021

My favorite kind of day is one where I set out with nothing but a vague notion as to where I am going. I enjoy finding the unexpected along the way. Such was the case in December 2021. I was headed back to Rhode Island from Utah. I knew I wanted to be in Hot Springs, Arkansas on Friday night. I was in Amarillo, Texas on Wednesday. I figured I need to get to the eastern side of Oklahoma for Thursday night. I set out that sunny warm morning on some back roads with the intent of heading east and photographing what I see.

I saw plenty of farms. Cotton fields were abundant. There were a few canyons lined with red rocks. I met some hunters. They were getting ready to clean the geese they shot. They were documenting their kills of which they were proud. I took some pictures of them. It was just past noon, and I was getting hungry. I had not seen a store in hours. I decided to head towards Quitaque, Texas. Population 411. Maybe there would be something there.

To my surprise there was a rather nice coffee lunch place in the town of mostly boarded up storefronts. I went in and had an excellent Italian sub. There was a policeman in there talking to an older gentleman at a table, the woman who owned the place and a helper. To this day I wished I had asked the policeman if I could take his portrait. He was an iconic fellow. The owner asked me where I was from. She said not many people come through this town. Then she asked if I had seen the buffalo. Well, she then proceeded to tell me all about them, where to go and how to get there.

After lunch, still not sold on seeing the buffalo, I wandered around town photographing the empty storefronts. The plains are totally littered with abandoned buildings. Then a white pickup truck pulled up to me. There was a middle-aged couple in the cab. Turns out they were brother and sister. They had grown up in Quitaque. They were in the next town over for an uncle’s funeral. They told me all about what these buildings were. Their parents had honeymooned in this closed building that used to be a hotel. Then they asked if I had seen the buffalo. They gave me directions and insisted I go.

Heading back to my van, I was stopped by a lady who came hurriedly out of a salon to talk to me. She asked why I was there all the way from Rhode Island. We chatted about the town. Then she asked if I had gone to see the buffalo. Her husband was the park ranger at Caprock Canyon State Park. After this conversation I had no choice but to go see the buffalo.

The park was relatively small. They gave me all the warnings about how dangerous buffalo can be. I drove in and the first group of three met me near the entrance. I took a few photos. The best one was when they move to the top of the ridge. I drove to the end of the park and did not see anymore. As I turned the van around about ten of them were walking right toward me. I stayed in the van and photographed them as they walked past. The last one I saw was near the exit. He blocked the road. This was the biggest one yet. Eventually, I was able to photograph this magnificent animal.

Then it was time to drive on. More photographing and plenty of nighttime driving to get across Oklahoma. It was the best kind of day! Full of surprises!

Nudes, Providence College 1980

One of the last requirements of the Bachelor of Arts in Studio Art at Providence College was to participate in a Senior Thesis Show. In my senior year I completed two shows. The first one was called Water’s Edge. It was color and black and white images taken near the ocean. Many were from Block Island. The second show was a group showing. I had eight 15 x 15 black and white nudes. All were shot in a studio against a black background.

The photographs were very form heavy. There were no heads in the images. These were not portraits. These photographs kind of pushed the boundaries of the Catholic college. The head of the department did ask that one of the photos be changed. I guess it had too much pubic hair. I did change it out even though I did not see anything wrong with it. As I look at them today, they are rather tame. I even have three of them hanging in my house.

This was a time when I began searching for my own vision. At the beginning of this lifetime photographic journey, I imitated many of the great masters of photography. In this case, it was Edward Weston. He did some photographs of his sons and some others that are probably the basis of this show. As time moved on, I came to rely less on imitation and more on my own inner workings. I think this is part of developing as an artist. To this day I look and enjoy the vision of others. I love being inspired by an exhibit. I read about art and photography constantly. My photo library is large. This is all part of my evolution as an artist. Though these days that evolution is mostly internal. For the creative, growth never stops.

Student, Providence 1990s

In the late 80s I became a teacher. My first four years I substituted in Providence. I then became a Social Studies teacher at The Alternate Learning Project in 1990. I would stay at this job for a decade. Originally my plan to become a teacher came about when thinking about what I really wanted to do. There were two things on my mind. I wanted to have time to do my photography and I wanted to spend my summers on Block Island. Little did I know that there would be a million other reasons for me to be in education. One of them was the incredible relationships with students. Seeing them mature and get smarter was rewarding.

ALP, as it was known, was the perfect place to see kids grow into adulthood. And it was amazing to see. We worked with the same group of kids year after year. We knew them very well. We talked beyond the lessons of the day. Helped them navigate incredible life challenges. I did not know how much I would love this part of the job.

While here I would occasionally bring my camera to work and do portraits of the students. I would give them prints to take home. At times, I would capture an image that showed their inner selves. Sometimes there were goofy failures. This photograph is one of my favorite portraits I ever made. I love the intensity in her eyes. Her serious demeanor jumps out. This photograph captures what she was like. That is the magic behind good portraits. Getting to a person’s essence. I enjoy photographing people. I should do it more.

Ruby on a Dock, Block Island 1999

The summertime of our youth is the most wonderful time of life. Endless summers of long sunny days on the beach. Learning how to sail. Running through fields. Playing hide and seek as the sunsets. Playing with dolls and toy trucks. Laying in the hot sand. Diving into the cool ocean. Riding boogie boards and skim boards. Coming home full of beach sand and climbing into the outdoor shower. Reading a book. Talking with friends from all over the country that gather on the island. Cookouts. Picking up crabs and snails. Fishing. Looking for lucky rocks. Getting a favorite flavor at the ice cream shop. Going to the movies at the old Empire Theater. Watching thunderstorms roll in. Visiting Grandma. Going to the beach house for snacks. Bruises and bug bites. Sun drenched hair. Visiting cousins. Going to friends’ houses. Riding bikes. The adults having cocktails as the kids run around the yard.

At the days end, after the cookout, this little girl was tired. The day was burned into her skin. Tired, but still enjoying the company of cousins and siblings. On the dock she stood. Cousins were laying down looking into the water. I took a few photographs. One of the cousins was published in a book, All Our Children. I made the picture of Ruby into a post card because it embodies all it means to be a child of Block Island summer. Time in these summers feel frozen.

A Walk to Karl Marx's Grave

In December of 1980 I was in London. I was housesitting for friends from Block Island. Also staying at the house were a couple from Oxford University. One was a Rhodes Scholar from the United States and the other an English doctoral candidate. One sunny Sunday afternoon we decided to walk to see Karl Marx’s grave in Highgate Cemetery. I brought my camera with me. I was using a Mamiya C330. I took a few photos along the way.

As we talked during the walk, the English student told a story that shape much of my life in education. He was taking an exam on Paradise Lost. After he wrote what the professor had said in class and had assumed that is what the professor wanted to see, the professor handed it back to him with a failing grade. He did not understand how the professor could give him such a poor grade. He asked why he got such a poor grade on the final exam. The professor told him that he already knew what he thought about the book, but he wanted to know what his student thought. He said it change his entire approach to learning. From then on, he asked himself what he thought about things. I tried when I went into teaching years later to get my students to take that approach. I wanted to have students who thought and analyzed with their own ideas. Reading other’s analysis is merely a springboard to your own great ideas.

Meanwhile, we arrived at out destination. There was an elderly woman visiting the next grave over. I spontaneously took this photograph as she touched the stone. The little edge of the grave in the corner is Karl Marx’s resting place. This photograph was different than any I had done before. Maybe the first one that had real human emotion in it. It seemed that my own ideas of photography were beginning to come to life. This was the beginning of my life after formal photographic education.

It is strange how conversations can have long lasting impacts on people, and we often do not know it. This one day did have a long impact, from that professor, to his student, to me, and on to my students. Independent thinking was given new value. Always ask, “What do I think?”

A simple day, a long walk, a good conversation, and a lifetime of impact.