Finistère

Happy

2012-01-31T23:19:00.003-07:00

If all goes according to plan, I will own this soon.

Desolation

2012-01-28T11:22:00.000-07:00

I have this photo as my desktop background right now. It was taken last summer as I was getting the Hell out of Dodge - literally. It reminds me that the landscape I travel through on my way to gather documents is harsh and unwelcoming. I don't like to think that we have tamed the land but we have developed ways to exist within it. Monday I leave for North Dakota. The land is as desolate as what you see here but much more remote in some ways. Somehow I'll find a way to exist there.

House Hunt Sunset

2012-01-28T10:30:00.001-07:00

The silver lining to a frustrating day of house hunting.

What long hours on the bike makes you photograph

2011-09-17T09:02:00.001-06:00

Pinto brochure

2011-09-17T08:20:00.001-06:00

Talk about a weird design but then again so was the car.

USA Pro Cycling Challenge - Stage 6

2011-09-17T00:50:00.000-06:00

This guy rode his bike from Eldorado Springs to Golden to watch Stage 6 of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge. I did the same but I did it on a road bike and didn't smoke like this guy. At least he had the right beer for the occasion. Wouldn't seem right to drink anything but Coors on Lookout Mountain.

Summer of (Bicycle) Love

2011-09-16T15:53:00.000-06:00

It's been the Summer of (Bicycle) Love. It's the only part of my summer that was planned. I knew going into the season that I wanted to log hundreds of miles and wear out some tires - especially that omnipresent spare one that has haunted my midsection since elementary school.

It started out simply enough - ride every available day I could - then it turned into a more serious and focused effort with intervals and thoughts of getting a heart rate monitor. By the end of June, I had lost enough weight to notice my climbing improve. I was on the right track until the train of life derailed mid summer (more on that later). I was forced to garage the bike for much of the month of July.

Come August 1, however, I was back on the bike spending serious chunks of time in the saddle. Soon my 22-mile training ride to Lyons seemed inadequate to give me the workout I craved. I started passing my usual turnaround and ventured up the canyon on Highway 7 toward Allenspark. I recruited anyone who would follow - or lead in the case of my friend Patrice who smokes me every time we ride.

Every spare moment was spent riding and every spare braincell was spent thinking of the next ride. I'm sure my wife tired of hearing about it and wished I was home more often, as I spent a guilty amount of time building a butt callous like never before.

The USA Pro Cycling Challenge came to town and all I could do was watch it. This captured my attention more than the Tour de France because the cyclists raced across roads I had taken and I recognized the names of the passes. I got goosebumps when I heard Phil Liggett say the names of mountains I had known all my life. It wasn't a far off Mont Ventoux or Col du Galibier that I heard of but never saw, let alone climbed on a bike - it was Cottonwood Pass and Lookout Mountain - names as familiar to me as Alcott Street and Mount Evans Boulevard, the streets I had spent my youth. When my friend Mark Stookesberry called me to ask if I would ride to the top of Cottonwood Pass to watch the race, I couldn't resist.

We camped out of Buena Vista and rode up the pass the next morning to watch the race. Like many of the racers, I had never ridden to excess of 12,000 feet, but that's where the similarities ended. Our two and one half hour slog up the pass was tough and the view at the top was worth the effort. We arrived well before the peloton did. Enough time for the clouds to collect and release rain, lightening and hail that scared those off the adjacent mountaintops. The rain didn't dampen the crowd's spirits and it stopped just before the breakaway and peloton powered through. They were fast.

It was all over in a matter of seconds and I wondered if it was worth all the effort. There I was surrounded by hundreds of cyclists, all of whom rode up a difficult climb just to watch some of the worlds greatest cyclists ride by for a few seconds. I pondered this as I mounted my now-muddy bike for the descent. I couldn't even clip in for all the mud that clogged my cleats. I was cold - perhaps not too far from hypothermia - but I had a great time. What other sport allows you such close access to the playing field. Not only do you get to be so close that you can run alongside your favorite athlete in a thong or gorilla suit but you get to feel the same agony of the climb and the ecstasy of the descent that they feel.

As the Summer of (Bicycle) Love winds down and the rain I experienced on the mountain becomes commonplace here in town, I find myself riding a bit less. There are still several miles ahead of me this season, however. I have at least three long rides planned before the weather turns for good. I'll spend an upcoming Sunday afternoon completing my first century. Two days later, on my mother's birthday, I'll dedicate 68 miles to her - one mile for each year she lived. The following week I hope to make the trek to Estes Park with my friend Patrice. This ride will carry less weight than the previous one but will be no less difficult - at least physically. And it's been a ride we have wanted to do for over two years but our schedules didn't mesh. One thing I have learned this summer: take advantage of every opportunity possible - you never know when it will be your last chance to do it.

Through the lens...

2011-01-25T17:13:00.000-07:00

Here's a couple of photo nerds geekin' out on a lens.

Sorry Bellamy

2010-10-21T17:33:00.000-06:00

Greeley is a great photojournalism town. I spent many months there as an intern, often looking for good feature photos to fill the holes left by poor planning in the newsroom. "We need a feature for A1" was all the direction I ever got. So I roamed the numbered streets of Greeley looking for anyone doing anything interesting. My internship covered most of the winter and Greeley isn't Boulder - people ride their bikes in the snow in Boulder - in shorts and T-shirts. In Greeley people stay inside and do who knows what so I had a rough time finding people outside doing stuff. What I wanted was a found feature: I considered it cheating to go to the library or rec center to "shoot fish in a barrel." I liked the challenge of getting someone doing something unexpected or even expected but seen in a new way. It made for some cold afternoons and evenings as I wandered the neighborhoods from 3rd Street and 8th Avenue to 8th Street and 3rd Avenue.

Never during my internship did I come across anything as interesting as this. I was meeting another photographer friend of mine for lunch when, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted this guy and his granddaughter cruising down the street. I did not see the dog at first. They were window shopping so I followed them for a bit. It felt good to be on the feature hunt again. I thought about my lunch meeting and quickly shot the trio and got their information in case the Greeley Tribune was looking for a feature.

I met up with my friend. He said he saw me shooting the feature and cursed me for my luck. He was on the hunt too.

Torrington Turtle

2010-09-27T14:20:00.000-06:00

This turtle caught my eye while I was heading south from Torrington, Wyo. the other day. I thought I had passed a rock in the road until I saw a little head poking out of it. I stopped to get a better look and decided to move it to the side of the road that seemed to be its destination. I noticed its beautiful underside and figured it wouldn't mind a quick photo shoot after I just saved its life. I liked the juxtaposition of the turtle and barbed wire so I set it atop the fence. Don't worry, I put him on the ground afterward where he safely made his way to a nearby marsh.

Finding freedom on Liberty Road

2010-08-30T21:51:00.003-06:00

Call me Sisyphus. The road to Torrington, Wyo. is a diagonal bit of two-lane asphalt that extends toward the Wyoming-Nebraska border. Not much lines the road but the occasional wild sunflowers and rows upon rows of domestic ones. I contemplate how many sunflower seeds will be spit in the direction of photojournalists covering prep baseball games - It's happened to me. I have been driving this stretch daily from my home in Longmont in a seemingly futile task of gathering documents. It only occasionally feels like I'm getting to the bottom of the list of docs but they keep sending me more lists.

I alluded to the monotony in a previous post and how I attempt to stem the feeling of making the donuts by hitting the asphalt on my bike. Today I brought the donut killer with me and planned to ride after work. Apart from the occasional surprised local, the ride wasn't much different than riding the farm roads around Longmont. I headed east from my hotel and spotted Liberty road. The name spoke to me and I took it north. The road climbed gradually and leveled out just before Forest Lawn Cemetery. I thought of those who fought for Liberty and maybe lost their own in the process.

In a quest to gain my own Liberty, I followed the road as it curved west for a bit and then resumed it's northerly uphill quest. I paused when the road turned to dirt. The ride had been quiet, but now that I had stopped and the sizzle of rubber on wet pavement ceased, I heard water burst free from irrigation pipes on its way to nourish crops.

I clipped back into the pedals and headed south toward the hotel. I knew that my nightly ritual to keep the monotony at bay had worked. I checked the time on my phone and noticed the map of the area was on the screen. I saw the name of the road but it looked different from what I saw on the first road sign. I zoomed into the area that contained the road on my map and saw the three letters between "Liberty" and "Road" come into focus. The road I was on was called Liberty Oil Road. The spectre of oil is never far off. I shoved my phone back into my jersey pocket and stomped on the pedals. Tomorrow I'll make the donuts but not right now.

In Dakota Territory - The sequel

2010-07-28T23:28:00.001-06:00

I didn't realize it when I checked into the Comfort Inn in Dickinson, North Dakota that I would be spending the next few nights in a county that shared my surname. To my knowledge I am not related to the person for whom the county is named but I intend to find out. In the meantime it served as a good backdrop for me to practice fill flash with my Canon G-11 - a task only slightly harder than advanced algebra. The job was made slightly harder considering my camera's LCD was reversing the words on the sign (as well as the rest of the image). Not a bad image considering the subject who is in bad need of a shave.

I hate the new normal

2010-07-08T15:57:00.001-06:00

As I sit here in a park in Cheyenne, a town I have no attachment to, drinking a frappachino that tastes the same as one I could have gotten 100 ot 1000 miles away, a realization hits me. I need to get out of this freaky homoginous, monotonous dream that my life has turned into. Five months ago I left the offices at the Reporter-Herald having just hat the "it's not you, it's me" conversation with my editors and the General manager of the paper. Fast forward three months: I now find myself face to face with the man who laid me off and I have to photograph an event sponsored by the paper. All the key players are there - at least the ones that were at the layoff meeting. This makes for an awkward hour of shooting but I manage to cobble together a few photos that are not award winning but publishable. I get into the car for the hour-long trip north to the windy state of Wyoming.

You see, I lucked into a job just three days after they laid me off and I've been doing it ever since. I say lucked into because of the timing, not because of the glamour of the job. I drive 2.5 hours a day and sit in a cubicle for the rest of it, where I "make the donuts" for eight hours. The only thing keeping me sane is the knowledge that three to four times a week I get to take to the road or dirt and trade the monotony of the cubicle for the sublime monotony of spinning the cranks for a few hours.

Ok I've vented. I can relax now.

Tuba Trio

2010-01-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

I was assigned to photograph the Loveland High School wind symphony the other day. I love to shoot musicians and I was somewhat excited to shoot this particular high school band because they can really play. After shooting a bunch of photos with the entire group, the band director asked if I minded if they broke up into smaller groups. I'm not sure what compelled him to ask my permission but I said it was fine with me.

I continued to shoot in the band room when I heard the trilling of flutes in the hallway. I thought this would make a good photo since they were a bit out of their element. After getting out there and making a passable photo, I heard the deep tone of tubas through a set of double doors.

They were playing against the backdrop of these bright red lockers and it was too much to hope for. I started shooting. They were practicing and I made some frames while they were blowing into the monstrous brass instruments. Then a great thing happened - at least for me. A hall monitor type person came over to say they were interrupting a test that was happening in a nearby room. At that moment the trio looked to the hall monitor and I made the frame that you see. It was the kind of moment you want as a photojournalist, one that you wait for that is just a bit better than what you would normally expect.

The photo of them playing in the hall is fine - even funny - but this moment transcends that and makes the photo much more compelling. It makes the viewer ask what they are looking at and then why are they playing in the hallway. At least that's what I take from it. What do you think?

2009 Baptism

2010-01-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

This photo was one of my favorites of 2009. It happened on a cold Easter Sunday during a sunrise service. I stayed throughout the service and heard they were going to be doing a baptism. A few brave souls dared to dunk themselves in the ice-cold water. I think they were glad they did and I was glad to have made a nice photo from the situation. I hope it's warmer this Easter.

What's in a name?

2010-01-15T00:48:00.000-07:00

Christmas is over. A new year is here and I felt it was time to ditch my topher. Sorry Mom. I have been professionally known a Christopher Stark since I was first published in the Metropolitan - at least I think I have. In talking with my friend and coworker Steve Stoner, I decided to make 2010 the year I professionally became Chris Stark. I'm not sure it will make a difference but it may clear up some misconceptions.

People think I'm Steve anyway - and I gather it goes the other way too. I think most people just see a name so often and it's the only one they remember when they see us out there with our big cameras. At least they aren't confusing us with the TV guys (I know the cameras are big but not that big) or our boss Jenny, the 5-foot-tall pregnant woman.

So it's official, or at least it was on January 1 when I was first published as Chris Stark. I don't feel any different. I suppose it's much like the year changing over or having your birthday. You feel the same even though there's one thing that is different - even if arbitrarily different. Why should we feel another way just because a second, a minute, an hour or a day ticked off the clock or calendar.

I'll continue to be the same person regardless of the name change. I've been Chris all my life anyway. Why should I have changed it for a newspaper job. Why didn't I make it one of those pretentious names like C. Matthew Stark (sorry V. Richard Haro - your's works and sounds cool but I still don't know what the V stands for) or Christopher M. Stark (Craig F. Walker would have thought I was copying him). So now I will remain Chris Stark as it should have been all along unless I just can't handle the change.

Maybe I'll have a one of my moody birthdays. It should just be another day in February but the mind has a way of making you think about it too much and build it into something it isn't. It will be the day after Groundhog Day just like every other year. It will also be the day I turn 36 - holy crap when did that happen! I'll think to myself, "why did I give up the name my mother gave me just 36 short...long years ago and why did I pick this year as the one to do it? 36 is such an off year. It's not like 35, which in itself is a bit off when you think about it - who throws a huge surprise party for someone turning 35? It has to be a year divisible by ten for some reason. Henry Heimlich, Fran Tarkenton and Norman Rockwell were born on February 3 - how could that be so bad. Then I remember that February 3 was the day the music died." Then I'll realize like I always do that it's just a day. Tomorrow will come and it won't be my birthday. It will be just another day. I'll have 365 more days to turn 37. I'll stop worrying about getting older and start thinking about doing something nice for myself: I could always give the topher back.

In Dakota Territory

2009-09-25T10:06:00.003-06:00

Armed with a day off, I attempt to combat the monotony of shooting documents for eight hours a day by heading off to a local fort. It started with a drive from Williston, North Dakota where I was based for the two-week document photographing marathon. I spotted these horses as I traveled southwest from the town on my way to Fort Union. They were bathed in such beautiful light so I stayed there about a half hour photographing them and thinking about my daughter, Sequoia, the horse nut.

After Lewis and Clark explored the Missouri area near the confluence with the Yellowstone on their way West, Fort Union sprang up and became a place where the natives could trade with whites. Native tribes brought buffalo hides and traded for textiles from Europe because, according to the tour guide: "Buffalo only comes in brown." The guide offered me some coffee, brewed fresh on the fireplace inside the fort. Who was I to refuse.

These guys were getting ready for a flag retirement ceremony at Fort Buford. They seemed so out of place in the back of this car. They were a fun group to hang out with. Despite their thinning ranks, they still meet regularly and perform with reenactment groups to keep history alive.

Love the beard.

This car symbolized my time in North Dakota. Much of the building and architecture seemed to be from the late 70s and early 80s. Aside from some new construction (mainly the fast food restaurants) it was as if the town was stuck in time. The oil business busted around this time so it makes sense that most of the building would stop as well. The buildings were kept up better than this car but the feeling that I got when I looked at it was the same as when I thought about the town: It was as if the rest of the country passed the town of Williston by - left it in a field in the middle of nowhere. Now that oil has returned to North Dakota, perhaps the place has a chance of catching up.

Elks, Dandelions and Malva neglecta

2009-05-12T15:21:00.007-06:00

I had never set foot into the Elks lodge in Loveland before covering this assignment. I was struck at how untouched the building seemed to be. Untouched since the early 70s that is. I have noticed over the course of my career how I seem to gravitate to things that are dated.

For some reason a run down building holds more appeal than one recently built. Lead-filled paint chips cling to boards on a building that closer resemble a rotting stump than clapboard siding. As a photographer I appreciate the texture offered by the years of neglect and maintenance. As a member of the community I wonder why the owner let the building slide so much.

I can appreciate why a building like the Elks lodge can remain in stasis. Members are more interested in the upkeep of a community than renovation of their lodge. The lodge is a public place that performs a function. There is no surplus of funds for more than basic maintenance.

As spring approaches and grass, flowers and weeds appear in my yard, I can appreciate the neglect of the dilapidated building. A few days go by and it seems the yard is overrun by dandelion and Malva neglecta. I can imagine the years going by between paint jobs as nature reclaims its own from the order and organization we impose upon it.

For now I will attempt to maintain my gardens and battle with weeds. I will apply order to nature and wonder why. I will continue to curse the dandelions in the back yard and simultaneously embrace the process that offers a never-ending supply of texture and photogenic opportunities.

Amphibious Landing

2009-04-14T20:44:00.004-06:00

I can't take credit for the kicker - a designer or editor much wittier than me thought of it. I think it fits perfectly. It represents the best and worst a newsroom has to offer: Something fell through or wasnt' planned well and we needed an A1 feature.

I went out with an open mind and an idea of where I wanted to shoot. A new park featured a frog slide and, since day one, I knew there was a feature in it. It was a rainy day idea that couldn't happen on a rainy day. Luckily the weather gods cooperated and I found some kids playing on the playground. They were doing some sort of follow the leader game that didn't exactly play into my feature idea. I wanted to shoot a kid sliding down the frog tongue head on.

I accepted the feature in my head wasn't going to happen (it seldom does). The kids kept jumping off the frog so I felt the best angle to capture it was from the side and the light was in my favor there as well. I noticed one of the girls took off her shoes and I thought it would make a better photo so I kept shooting. I kept it tight to keep the moment playful and it worked. When I got to the office to edit, I briefly thought about using the photo of the girl with her shoes on but decided on the one with her shoes off because of the movement of the lines of the photo. I love that her feet are barely off of the frog. It gives me that feeling that I feel when I'm at the apex of the top hill of a roller coaster.

I didn't even see the final published piece until a few days later. I loved the kicker. Amphibious landing seemed so appropriate. I wasn't there when it was chosen but I can almost imaging the banter in the newsroom while it was being chosen. It may have been a collaborative effort or it may have been a stroke of genius that comes just before a round of congratulatory high fives. I'm going to miss that.

Nothing good ever happens in the Newsroom...

2009-03-01T18:05:00.005-07:00

I have struggled lately in the wake of the recent bad news in the newspaper industry. I have tried to stay passionate about my work without letting the negativity creep into it. It has been an uphill battle. I have not been immune to the onslaught of negative attitudes and stories. Nor has my company I work for. I have heard an inner voice say, "why bother."

But when I shake off the baggage of the office and survey the scene I've been assigned to cover, I realize that most of what I do remains the same as the day I started. I joke that I still get to push a button for a living. I know that is extreme oversimplification of what I do but I have to frame it in this way so I can accept it. I get paid to photograph life. I observe the day to day happenings on my part of this rock and I frame them to make sense of the situation that I see.

I showed up to photograph the Civil Air Patrol drill team state championships not knowing what I would find. The scene where they performed was less than ideal so I worked the fringes of the event looking for people in pools of light. I saw this group waiting to perform (they just happened to be a local group - bonus). I noticed the way they stood and darted glances around offered a visual clue of their anticipation and nervousness. For a few moments I made photos while they waited. I lost all thought of what was going on in the newsroom. I forgot that I was in an industry in transition (or a dying one if you ask some). I was there to tell a story so I did.

"Distorted" Agony

2009-02-01T11:01:00.004-07:00

I photographed this photo at the funeral of Staff Sgt. Justin Bauer in Berthoud recently. The emotional part aside, this photo was difficult to make. From a logistics standpoint, I had to navigate the dozens of people crowded around Bauer's casket while trying to appear sensitive to those grieving around me. I also was one of at least five photographers present to cover the event.

Most people ignored me or went out of their way to move so I could get an unobstructed view. In making this photo, however, I was blocked by a person who was visually and audibly upset with me photographing the event. Fortunately, I was able to work my way into a good enough position to get what I did. My apologies if I offended the guy next to me as I shot a few frames right over his shoulder to avoid the perturbed woman.

I understand these are obstacles to covering news events like this. Large crowds at an emotional event can often lead to difficult shooting angles and the occasional self-righteous person obscuring what little vantage point is left. I did my best and shot everything I saw, but I was unprepared for the rejection I received from an editor at the paper when we were discussing the final photos for the front page.

The editor thought the top photo cut a little too close to the emotional bone. The editor argued that it showed Bauer's widow in "distorted" agony and thought we would seem insensitive by running a photo like that. I argued that the photo was peak emotion in an event that would forever alter the lives of those close to Staff Sgt. Bauer. I continued to argue my point for a bit longer when I was cut off by the editor and asked to leave the room. After I finished my point I did leave and the lower photo was selected from my take to run despite a consensus that the upper one was the best photo for the front page.

The next day several papers ran photos that were equally as emotional as the original one I selected.

Hangin' at the Pool Hall

2009-01-11T16:09:00.005-07:00

I'm not sure what message it's sending, but this pool league is keeping the kids off the street. I was surprised at the abilities of some of these kids. None of them ran the table but I could see that some were not far from being able to. In the photo, they are "lagging" to see who can get closest to the bumper. The prize was a dollar bill. It may not be the career path that most of their parents want them to take but at least they have a fall-back career.

Gay Ducks

2008-12-22T20:50:00.003-07:00

I'm not suggesting that these ducks are homosexual. I'm only bringing to light that this photo triggered that response in a few people. It made the front page and I'm suprised that the paper didn't get any hate mail for being biased toward gay marriage.

On a similar note, the paper has received several complaints about a gay engagement posting in our paper. Apparently, some Lovelanders aren't ready to accept gay marriage proposals, let alone gay marriage. It's amazing that people have the time to write in about something like this. I guess I should be happy there are people still reading the paper, regardless of their moral stance.

Taken for a ride

2008-12-10T08:56:00.001-07:00

This doesn't seem like a good idea.

Thanksgiving Ripple

2008-12-01T09:10:00.003-07:00

While covering a Thanksgiving 5K Turkey Trot I got a call from a reporter about an accident that happened near Johnsons Corner. I heard some of the police at the 5K talking about it but I didn't learn how bad it was until I talked with the reporter. She told me that there was a bad accident and that all 7 people were killed by a fire resulting from the it.

I saw the scene while driving over Highway 60 but didn't fully comprehend it until I parked the car and scrambled down the slope where I came face to face with the reality in the photo. A trooper saw me immediately and told me that I had to be on the other side of the road. I made a few photos and then walked along the sloped overpass to the other side of the road. I glanced in the direction of the car and realized with much relief that there were no bodies inside. They had been removed before I got there.

Even being at the scene I was still numbed to it by being behind the camera. The human impact of the moment didn't sink in until I was back at the office looking through my take. I was toning my photo when I zoomed in to see what looked like sewing supplies on the front seat. I don't know who the seven people in the car were but I know that they were family.

I can imagine the scene before the accident as they traveled northbound toward their home in Canada: I imagine a group of people starting a leg of their trip on an early holiday morning. The roads were relatively quiet in the pre-dawn darkness. The kids were asleep in the backseat. The driver, who may have drifted off to sleep, veered off into the median through a gap just wide enough for a car to pass and traveled the length of a football field and launched off the gap in the road over Highway 60. I only hope they were still sleeping when they hit the concrete on the other side of the overpass.

None of my questions about the accident seem to have an answer but one lingers in my mind more than the others: What if the car veered off just a bit before or after the gap in the guard rail. Would that have saved their lives? I know the surviving family has asked themselves questions like this and dozens more.

The accident brings to mind another that I covered. A family that had just moved to Colorado from New York was traveling on Interstate 70 when a steel girder fell from a bridge that was under construction over the highway. Had they stopped for gas once or pushed the accelerator a bit heavier they would be alive today.

The questions go around in my mind until they don't make sense. Then one thing occurs to me: regardless of knowing it, we make decisions that affect us, no matter how dramatic the outcome. We can't know the future but we can have an awareness about how our decisions can have a ripple effect. The family who's lives were claimed in that Thanksgiving Day accident didn't know they would make the paper in a city they expected to be just passing through. I wonder how their lives have have impacted those they never knew.