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№ 75 Posts

…pt 2

Benson Complex, June 2009

The painter I’ve been tracking seems to have taken to simply throwing cups of paint. I like the look- almost like some vintage ghost did a Wile E Coyote right smack into the steel door.

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Rialto, June 2009

But I think I’ll park it on this note- something about the tall and skinny is keyhole-esque- a bit brighter, and a bit more optimistic.


Rialto, June 2009

Went back out to Rialto, a leaden hostile feeling most of the day- not unlike the sky here. I’m feeling pretty restless and impatient with all my current projects. Could just be the summer blahs, but I need a fresh kick in the ass to kickstart some new growth. The things I used to look forward to are becoming mere routine, chin furrows in the dirt farm, so to speak. My eyes are so close I’m seeing the same lines everywhere. In any case, this project needs to be deepsixed until I get some fresh perspective, before I become a caricature of myself.

Paint swatches




Mortar Complex, June 2009

We went back to Fort Worden yesterday, this time to the gun line proper on Artillery Hill. The first thing that jumps out is the random application of paint samples around the grounds- perhaps a minor municipal gesture against the overwhelming rust, or maybe it’s just official modesty over obscene grafitti. Nevertheles, the place is fascinating, a small stateside Angkor Wat slowly being reclaimed by nature and some guy with a paint roller.

on the subject of burls..

Burl Forest, Beach 1, June 2009

Being a carpenter/woodworker, it is hard not to feel a bit of rapacity for forests like this, thinking of the fantastic woodgrain  that must lurk in these deformities.  Even the spalt on some of the decaying snags must be otherworldly. So I printed it a little dark, imagining a midnight trip in with the skewback saw. Kidding of course. Hmm, yes.

saltcured spruce

Sitka Burls, Beach 1, February 2009

Another shot I’ve been messing with for far too long. The image almost takes on the shape and movement of implosion in cartoon space, each seasonal attempt a mutation of misdirected growth, and that goes double for me too.

The river is moving, the blackbird must be flying*


Road, Sadie Creek, February 2009

Meanwhile, a brief interlude from a favorite-


Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.


I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.


It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

– Wallace Stevens, from Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird*

Tunnels of Love, part II

stairs steps

Battery Stoddard Complex, May 2009

The rest of the shots from Thursday evening, in no particular order. The vertical shot of the doorway I cropped on the bottom due to a shadow racing across the sidewalk and threatening to start up the building. I was in a hurry and was trying to collapse the tripod legs to get lower in the vertical space, which is a litle difficult with the camera mounted in vertical orientation- sort of top heavy. A tripod leg shot out and I shouted a mild Jesus! just as a jogger was passing by and she glared and muttered Perv. Perhaps thinking I still had time during my minor disaster to ogle her. Some people are so self absorbed, lol.

Tunnels of Love

Battery Underground, May 2009

I went back to Fort Worden after work on Thursday. Our crew was working in Irondale this week, just up the hill from the old steel mill site, and I drove to work myself that day to give myself a break from the regimented inmate aspects of the group commute/caravan.  Plus, it’s the only way I can take all my camera gear with me. I left work in a sort of Friday evening daze- Thursday is my Friday, we work 4/10 hr days- not entirely sure what to do with myself.

Irondale segues to Port Hadlock and then to Port Townsend in a crescendo of affluenza. It would be very funny to see it in time elapse- see someone emerge from the crawlspace under a beat-to-hell trailer and end up walking around some of the palatial Victorian mansions in PT, but instead I just reflexively ended up at Fort Worden. Something about the place on a gorgeous spring evening- the white of the clapboards and the gray slate of the rooftops and the sweeping green of the commons- like a place where parades go to die.

The Stoddard artillery battery is quite inconspicuous off the end of the grounds, low and oddly small atop the eastern bluffs over Admiralty Inlet. It gives off an bruised glow in the growing dusk, it’s the perfect time to set up and take some shots. A natural symbiosis of desertion and flagging museum budgets.

These Ft Worden shots are a minor scope creep from original project, but I’m realizing that I have to connect themes as I uncover them in awkward ways to keep myself involved in my own projects.  No doubt eveything will eventually come up crisscrossed and confused by a network of aesthetic escape routes. But I do want  to involve more history. And this theme of abandonment does keep cropping up.

Open in the event of calm

Creek, Beach 1, February 2009

This one has festered into a vicious little twitch…I took it back in February and bring it out to work on it occasionally when things are going well and I’m feeling good about myself.  No compromise of contrast or tone circumvents the dust storm of hairpulling and pacing around my tiny darkroom and muttering. Even my most sedate Mendelssohn is no buffer against it. But something about the opposable trees and folds of the creek in the bluffs keep me coming back for more punishment.