This is a photograph of a mesquite seed pod I found on the grounds of the Miraval Resort during my artist-in-residence there this summer. The mesquite trees are about all the shade you get in the heat of the desert, and the crunching of the pods underfoot is a common sound as you walk the grounds.

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abstract of a mesquite seed pod

An abstract photograph of a mesquite bean pod, created while at Miraval.

Each work of art I make, whether I am in the desert or my studio at home, starts with me being mindful of the natural world and my relationship to it. I disconnect the analytical side of my brain, and quiet the chatter in my head. I try to calm the brain’s reflexive need to process and categorize, and just allow myself to absorb what my senses perceive, unfiltered. Even when I am out gathering subjects to photograph, I cannot worry about the past or plan for the future: I have to just be aware of the present, and experience my environment as openly and simply as possible. Only then do the ideas and images come to me. In a way, my art has become my own form of meditation or prayer, helping me be more mindful, more present, more centered.

Annother photograph of a mesquite bean pod created at Miraval.

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Mindfulness and my artistic process

Yesterday I finally started unpacking. First the camera equipment. After a few hours, I finally got my studio pretty much reassembled. It’s amazing to think that I hauled that equipment around all week, setting it up and breaking it down each day. Next, I began to carefully unpack my box of treasures. While walking around the blazing-hot grounds of Miraval, I constantly collected subjects to photograph — twigs, seeds, pods, leaves, etc.. Whenever we’d go for a walk, I’d always fall behind, dropping down to my knees to examine a small plant on the side of the path, then taking off my hat (probably not smart in the 105° heat) to gently carry them home.

Desert plants are amazing things. First of all, they have the best names: pineleaf milkweed, cassia, rain lily, cat claw acacia, snakeweed, hopbush, spectacle pod, monks pepper leaf (thanks to Miraval’s horticulturalist Corey for helping me put a name to everything). These plants have evolved to flourish in such harsh conditions. I loved how the pods and flowers at the ends of their branches and leaves would bake dry in the heat and fall to the ground, shattering to scatter the seeds. This makes them wonderfully complex things to photograph, but at the same time, challenging things to transport across the country without damaging.

My wife and I were really careful about packing these things up, wrapping everything in tissue borrowed from the giftshop, and packed in a box in our carryon luggage. I was nervous because these super-dried plants are so brittle and fragile. But as I unfolded the tissue and untangled the twigs and leaves, I was relieved to find that everything arrived home safely. Now to photograph these, and hopefully create a new series of work inspired by my time at Miraval.

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home from Miraval

Since I have two young kids, the first thing I needed to do was convince the grandparents to babysit for a week (thank you thank you thank you). Being gone that long is a big deal, so I had to explain to the kids what I was doing, and make sure they were ok with it. Luckily, they are pretty amazing. As my son says, I’m heading off to “summer camp for adults”. Still, this is the longest we’ll have been away from them, so it might be a little tough — on us at least.

I then had to make sure my business would be fine while I was gone: making sure my ketubah orders are completed, and getting all of my other projects finished or tied up. I’ll be bringing my work with me, but you never know how much time or attention you’ll have.

Finally, I needed to figure out what I was going to do at the resort: the style of work I’d be demonstrating and the equipment I’d need. This took some planning. When I photograph, I usually work in my studio, which is set up exactly the way I like it. But I couldn’t just pack up my whole studio! So I needed to figure out everything I needed to bring that would demonstrate my technique, while still making sure I could haul it across the country and back. I finally managed to streamline my tools down to a decent set, and squeeze them all in a Pelican case. This case is important because it can be used as a carry-on (I want to keep my stuff close), yet is tough enough to keep everything safe if it needs to be checked as luggage.

All of my equipment packed up and ready to go.

Part of me still wonders if I should just leave all the equipment behind — just bring the camera and a single lens, wander the gardens of Miraval, and see what happens. It’s not how I normally work, but it would be a fun challenge. But then I remember that the temperature in Tucson gets to 105°… and the thought of working indoors sounds much better! But we’ll see what inspires me when I get there.

This is definitely going to be a challenge. An interesting and fun experience, but a new challenge none-the-less. I’m used to being in a pretty controlled environment, and I’m not sure what will be waiting for me when I get there. Miraval has a space ready for me to work in, but I have no idea what it’s like: is there enough outlets for my computer and lights? Is there any natural light I can use? I also hope that I’ll be able to find some subjects to photograph around in their gardens, but you never know what you’ll find and be inspired by. (I’ll need to bring some subjects of my own, just in case.) Will anyone stop by to see me work? How will that feel (I’m used to working alone). It’s all a mystery that will soon be solved.

Wish me luck! Any if you are at Miraval next week, see you there!

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getting ready for my artist in residence

First of all, nearly every photographer I admire uses open editions. It’s just a natural medium for photographs. Limited editions make total sense for many traditional art forms, where the master image degrades with each printing. But one of the pleasures of photography is that you are not limited in the number of prints you can make from a negative. And this is even more true with digital photography where the master file never degrades.

Second, my technique and skills are constantly improving, as is the technology I use. Whenever I make a print, it represents the best I can do at that point in time. But every year, the software I use gets more sophisticated. Every year, my ability to use those tools gets better. Every year, I learn new techniques and get better at old ones. And because of this, every time I revisit an old photograph, it gets better and closer to the vision I originally had for it. If I limited my editions, this avenue for growth would be shut down, which would be unfair to both me and the buyers of my art.

Third, it just doesn’t make business sense. Limiting editions would just limit my potential for making money. And my goal is not just to make art, but to make a living from my art. Artificially limiting my ability to do this is just taking money away from my family.

Some argue that limited editions are more attractive to collectors, because they are better investments. But you want collectibility? Buy Pokemon cards. You want an investment? Buy some stock. You want art? OK, let’s talk! No one who has bought a print from me has ever asked about limited editions, edition size, print order, or anything. They buy the art, not its collectibility.

Barney Davey has been advocating against limited editions of prints, and is much more eloquent on this topic. Go read what he has to say!

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why I do open editions