Sign post at Macs ~ Keeseville, NY - in the Adirondack Park • click to embiggen

Carrot on plate ~ Au Sable Forks, NY - in the Adirondack Park • click to embiggen

Red tangle ~ Au Sable Point / Peru, NY - in the Adirondack Park • click to embiggen

Within the medium's very wide-ranging boundaries of related-to-the-real images made with a mechanical device on a light sensitive surface, there is plenty of room for creative improvisation and tomfoolery. It is no stretch at all to state that, with a mechanical device at the ready and the world at large (and everything in it) at hand, if one can imagine it, picture-wise, one can create it. However ......

.... it never ceases to amaze me how many picture makers run into a dead end / a wall / a what-to-picture brain lock. One might think that, with the world and everything in it as one's picture making oyster, there would be an endless array of picturing opportunities. More than enough to fill up a life time of picturing, no matter how long that life might be.

Unfortunately, when it comes to making meaningful / good pictures or breaking out of a what-to-picture funk, one of the most oft heard / read dictates of the medium's canon - to concentrate / focus on a referent which interests one most - might just be the problem. Setting aside the fact that a whole lot of people (to include a whole lot of picture makers) are only interested in themselves, there are a fair number of people / picture makers who have no real passionate interest in their lives which can serve as the fuel for a blazing fire.

Add to that fact, there is a danger inherent in picking a referent one cares about and then falling into the trap of working to that particular genre's dictates and mores (as defined by the "purist" gurus of any particular genre). What one could end up making are pictures that one has been told are good pictures rather than actual good pictures.

In my experience, it seems quite clear to me, from my viewing of and "studying" the pictures of many of the medium's Greats - as well as the near Greats, potentially Greats, never-to-be-discovered Greats, and garden variety Greats, the one simple characteristic they all share, picture making wise, is their passion for making pictures. Not necessarily a passion for making a particular kind / genre of pictures, just a plain and simple passion for making pictures.

IMO, that passion is the stuff from which good pictures are made. Picture making wise, the fuel that feeds the fire. The obsession which drives the mind and soul.

And armed / driven by that passion, one is free to make pictures of not only what one wants to picture (unconfined by genre, with the world and everything in it as one's picture making oyster) but also, perhaps more importantly, make those pictures in a manner dictated by how one wants to make them, not how one is told to make them.

IMO, that's the recipe for making good pictures.

Interesting bit of trivia regarding Jackson. Of course his work is not associated with the Adirondacks like Seneca Ray Stoddard or Bierstadt. Not sure if you agree, but their work was more in tune with your MO than most contemporary photographers. Search Google for "adirondack photographer" and you will get lots of pretty picture sites, but not much which is "being true" to use your words.

So thinking about this, do you feel any responsibility for documenting life in the Adirondacks in our time (your hundreds or thousands of pictures surely will be of interest to historians in the future). How accessible will your pictures be in 50 or 100 years? ... will your prints survive?

Do you ever think about this?

Re: the first notion - the work of Stoddard / Bierstadt being more in tune with my picturing MO - is an easy one to respond to. While I have never set out to emulate the work of either picture maker, I would nevertheless agree with John's assessment. Especially so, regarding Stoddard. The statement in the product description of the book Exposing the Wilderness: Early-Twentieth-Century Adirondack Postcard Photographers (a book which really helped me view/place my Adirondack work into some form of perspective) ...

The first third of the last century is considered by many collectors and historians to be the golden age of postcards. From that era the author has chosen six upstate men who recorded everyday life in small towns, popular resorts and tourist areas - and anywhere else that caught their fancy, from logging camps to train wrecks...

... is as accurate a description of my Adirondack Picturing MO as could be (minus the logging camps and train wrecks), especially the "anywhere(/thing) else that caught their fancy" part. Just as the 6 "postcard" photographers did, I live in in the Adirondacks and make pictures (of everyday life) where I live (my life).

That said, the aforementioned manner in which I picture where I live leads directly to John's second statement/question ...

I have thought about "this", if by "this", John means will my pictures survive (in any form) and will they be of interest (artistically and/or historically) to anyone in the future? - questions that are, IMO, borderline meaning of life-ish.

To be precise, my hope and wishes are emphatically tilted toward answering "Yes" and "Yes" to John's 2-part question. In order to accomplish that end, I have set a 2012 goal for myself - organize my work into manageable categories / folders, create small yet representative folios of work from those categories, and get them seen by as many appropriate organizations - historical societies, museums, galleries, etc. - as possible. Raising awareness / pique some interest and start the ball rolling, so to speak.

Doing so is not exactly a monumental task, but it is going to require a substantial amount of focus and effort. After all, as John accurately surmised, I have 1,000s of Adirondack pictures - in fact, approaching 4,000 - to edit, categorize, and then print as "teaser" folios.

My organizational umbrella for this task and presentation is that of a Modern Postcard Picture Maker, even if I don't make postcards as such.

FYI I do not feel any "responsibility" for documenting life in the Adirondacks. However, I do feel a responsibility to represent what I picture in as true/real a manner as the medium and its apparatus allow.

The iPad has also become quite handy since the loss of our only sort of nearby bookstore (a Borders) last year. I now get most of my books online and am reading them on the device. Not something I intended to do but I've acclimated myself to using it for that purpose.

That said, the newest iPad capability I am now using is its function as a blood pressure monitor.

After my recent AFib events, my cardiologist said I should take my blood pressure everyday, adjust 1 of my meds according the results, and keep a diary of the BP readings. That didn't seem like a big deal until I discovered that most BPMs available in drugstores are a pieces of crap - after taking one to my doctor to compare readings (his vs. mine), the results were so far off as to be totally useless.

Long story short, after doing some online research, I came across a BPM designed to work with the iPad, iPod, and iPhone. I ordered one and so far, so good. It has made the whole procedure easy - download their app, hookup the device to the iPad, and hit the Start button. The device not only takes a reading - it can also be set to take 3 successive readings and give an average result (with Morning, Day, and Evening settings as well) - but it also automatically creates a diary of the reading which is ready for emailing to my doctor right from the iPad.

IMO, that's technology I can live with. Highly recommended if you need to monitor your blood pressure.

According to the 2000 census, the median income for a household in the village was $32,813, and the median income for a family was $36,181. Males had a median income of $28,229 versus $21,500 for females. The per capita income for the village was $13,939. About 10.9% of families and 15.3% of the population were below the poverty line, including 21.5% of those under age 18 and 9.9% of those age 65 or over. The reality in 2012 is certainly worse than that.

However, despite that state of affairs, the village is home to quite a number of homes and building of architectural significance. Unfortunately, because of the village poverty rate and relatively high crime rate (for this area), much of this rich architectural heritage is in the state of decline. The flat out truth is, for the most part, it is not an especially attractive area for a family home and consequently there is little investment being made in the village's architectural heritage.

That said, and not coincidentally, Keeseville is also home the Adirondack Architectural Heritage organization. While the organization is devoted to architectural preservation, education, advocacy throughout the entire Adirondack Park, it's presence in Keeseville - in a recently acquired historic mill property - provides a much needed ray of hope for the village.

All of that said, here's a fact that few, if any, Landscapist followers might know - I began my university studies with the intent of pursuing a career as an architect. While that didn't come to pass - I lost interest after starting to wade through the ... let's call it the minutia of the trade - I have, nevertheless, maintained a life-long interest in things architectural. Therefore, it has not escaped my keen eye (and intellect) that nearby Keeseville is an architectural goldmine in more ways than one.

So, sometime over the next couple weeks, I will be assembling a small Keeseville architectural folio to present to the AARCH organization with the idea of instigating, one way or another, a picture project of one kind or another.

BTW & FYI, Keeseville was the birthplace of the famous picture making pioneer, William Henry Jackson.

Pictures, top to bottom:

1) Even though Hugo drew the outside lane, he's hanging in there at the first turn.

2) Half way through the first lap, Hugo's pulled into 2nd place and is drafting, Apollo Anton Ohno style, the leader (a ringer from Long Island).

3) By the first turn of lap 2, Hugo has grabbed the lead - by means of a sweet dive to the inside after the 3rd corner - and is starting to stretch it out.

4) Half way through the final lap, Hugo's cruising right along and stretching it out even more.

5) At the finish, the rest of the field is nowhere in sight and, in a show of sportsmanship, Hugo begins to stop before the finish line so as to add a second or 2 to his average lap time in order to not embarrass the 3rd Grade competitors.

6) The Medalists (l-r) - 1st place / Hugo, 2nd place / the Long Island ringer, 3rd place / one of Hugo's hockey teammates.

I could use this sighting to launch into a weather-weirding / climate-change scree but it's a nice day and I don't want to upset the flat-earth / anti-science crowd.

FYI, I'll most likely head back to Au Sable Point with the long lens.

Some of the comments mentioned the idea and the problems / barriers / inhibitions of picturing people / strangers whom one might encounter on the street / in public places. That picture making MO most certainly qualifies as making pictures of people but it's not exactly what I had in mind when writing about emotionally charged picture making - in part because the genre known as street photography can very often produce pictures which are as "cool" and emotionally detached as landscape pictures.

IMO, in many cases (but certainly not all), the people in such pictures are somewhat less-than-interesting lifeless forms like a prop, a bush or a tree in a landscape picture. After all, it's got to be difficult (but not impossible) to create an emotionally charged picture of a person or persons with whom the picture makers has no intimate or personal knowledge or connection. That said, one of the exceptions to that situation is to be had at the scene of some sort of tragedy or spectacular event.

The lack, on the part of the picture maker, of personal knowledge of a street photography subject is also why (once again, IMO) so many pictures of people made in the name of that genre exhibit such lifeless expressions of the faces of the observed. Or, on the other hand, if the expression is not somewhat lifeless, it is one of awkwardness or oddness - a fleeting expression which, quite frankly, tells the viewer nothing about the subject other than the fact that at any given moment a person can be pictured with their tongue hanging out of their mouth or some such similar expression.

All of that said, my preference for people on the street pictures is in the vein of that practiced by Eliott Erwitt, Martine Barrat, Teenie Harris, or Bruce Davidson (most notably in his East 100th Street work). In their work, there is exhibited a much more well-rounded (emotionally) and a somewhat more intimate human connection to the people in their pictures. There is, if you will, a warmth that is severely lacking in much of the cool and detached gaze of their street photography counterparts.

That does not mean that everything and everyone in their pictures is all peaches and cream. There is plenty of dark-side content, actual and implied. There is also plenty of irony, paradox, and some wit to be found in their pictures. However, there is most definitely an underlying compassion and dignity, on the part of the picture maker toward their subjects, which is brought to bear in the act of their picture making.

In any event, I believe that one must be engaged on some level - other than the simple desire to make pictures - with the people one pictures in order capture emotionally imbued pictures. IMO, I believe Martine Barrat said it best when she stated that ...

... she photographs her life and sometimes she takes pictures: it isn't the same thing.

I couldn't have stated it better. And, in my experience, I make my most emotionally imbued pictures (sometimes highly charged) when I engage in the act of picturing my life. At other times, I take pictures. It's most definitely not the same thing.

Coffee maker ~ Au Sable Forks, NY - in the Adirondack Park • click to embiggen

Hotel pool ~ Cherry Hill, NJ • click to embiggen

Images are enigmas which are solved by the heart. ~ Giordano Bruno