Visual Ovation

In Remembrance

 

A tower of roses

In honor

In remembrance

 

Late Spring Show at Riverfront Art Gallery

 

We are delighted that our work is being shown permanently at Riverfront Art Gallery in Petaluma.  We are getting used to the schedule and routine of gallery life.  Every two months, artists gather at the gallery to rotate their work into new locations, and to show new material.  Even better, the new cycle means that there will be a new "featured artist" or "featured artists," and it is particularly inspiring to see a new body of work by our colleagues.

While this is only our second experience with the gallery "hanging days," we are struck by the sense of community and camaraderie.  There is a sense of closure in taking down the prior show and excitement about seeing what will be revealed in the new one.  There is a chance to talk and get to know our colleagues a bit.  And there is nothing like having the hits of Motown turned up loudly on the gallery sound system to provide an atmosphere of fun as we make our way around our spaces, patching walls, painting, packing and unpacking, wiring, and trying to find the most effective way to display our images.

For this, the Late Spring show, we decided to honor the season with images from the amazing Keukenhof Gardens.  I suppose Keukenhof has been on my mind lately, both because it is open and must be in its full glory now, but also because we have been getting ready for this show.  Frank is showing a collection of large images, showcasing the glorious vistas in the Gardens.  The image above is one of his favorites, called "Don't Fence Me In."

We decided to work in an integrated way for this show, so I am also featuring images from Keukenhof.  But where Frank's work has showcased the "big picture," my images take the more detailed view, with the position that all those big pictures are made up of small, individual flowers.  So I am displaying a collection of portraits of tulips, both highlighting their external beauty, and also revealing the lovely secrets that lie within their petals.  The following image is in the show.  It is called "The Tulip's Secret I"

 

 We hope you will stop by and let yourself be transported to what we call "Botanical Heaven" with our images.  And the delight of visiting any art gallery is that in experiencing art of all sorts, you may be transported to many places (external and internal) in a single visit.  A gallery space provides an artistic journey for everyone who enters, artists and visitors alike.  The newest journey at Riverfront Art Gallery, the new Late Spring Show, opens tomorrow, Wednesday May 11th.  Come and join us.

Nature's Artist

 

It is Spring and we are thinking about the beautiful Keukenhof Gardens in the Netherlands.  We have called Keukenhof "Botanical Heaven" because of the almost overwhelming beauty of the place.  Rivers of flowers flow throughout the gardens in the most amazing fashion.  Sometimes these rivers of color wind through the trees in a natural, free form manner, as above. 

Sometimes, the floral streams are more orderly, like this:

 

Or like this...

 

Can you imagine?  It really is even more beautiful than these images can convey...

 

We noticed that one little flower seems to run through many of these spectacular floral vistas.  It is a stunning blue, a tiny, compact flower called Muscari which provides a beautiful artistic accompaniment to almost any other spring bulb.  There are many varieties of Muscari, but we saw this one and understood at once that it was quite aptly named: 

 

Muscari - nature's artist - but of course.

For Those Who Suffer in Japan

 

 

 After devastation...

 

 

...a visual offering of hope. 

 In time, the chrysanthemum will bloom again. 

Waiting for Sunshine

 

Like these lovely gerbera faces, orienting towards the sky, we patiently await the arrival of "Sunshine." It is a good lesson:  She will come in her own time.

Learning to See II - Delicate Immortality

It all started when I was on a walk several weeks ago.  Even though it does not compare to other parts of the country, northern California does have a fall.  Since I grew up in a part of the world where there was no identifiable Autumn, I always have been delighted by the annual changes in foliage.  Delighted, yes, but I realize that until recently, I didn't really "see" it. 

On the walk, I began to look down, as well as up, and started being drawn to leaves because of their particular colors or shapes.  Soon, I began to think that I needed to do two walks - one for exercise and one for collecting, because I ended up dawdling so much.  Last week, as I walked with an ever-growing fist full of leaves, I felt
almost child-like in the delight in really looking, in really seeing this new world of color and form.  And I have not stopped.  Recently we were doing work on one of our fences - well, actually Frank was doing the work, I was the "assistant."  That left me time to look down and discover leaves from our Raywood Ash that had the most amazing range of colors. 

So I brought my armloads of leaves into the studio.  I have been working on a collection of botanical portraits.  I have been playing with light and its relation to the amazing colors and shapes.  And because I am fascinated with reflection, I have been using a mirror and working with reflection and the additional layer of depth and interest that provides. 

 
With some leaves, the delight has been the strength and variety of colors.  With others, the delight has been the delicacy and softness of the shades.  And I have become fascinated with the way the leaves curl as they dry, providing an additional layer of beauty and interest.

I cannot help but see this one as a dancer, getting ready to pirouette - the sense of movement is a delight to me.

So, out of simply looking at the ground, I have discovered  a world of extraordinary beauty and delicacy that I had not noticed before. Both on my walks and in the studio, I have been "seeing" in a new way.  And I am aware that these leaves had all fallen to the earth, part of Nature's Autumn right of passage, but soon to be lost and forgotten.   I like to think that in these portraits, I have provided them with a delicate immortality.

Rorschach's Orchid: Thoughts about Teaching and Learning

Yesterday was Dr. Hermann Rorschach's birthday.  That's right, the one who created the inkblot test.  Born on November 8, 1884, he developed what probably has become one of the most controversial instruments in the history of Psychodiagnostic Assessment.  I had always thought he must have been a crusty old man when he developed the test, but was surprised to learn that he died in his 30's.  And when I finally obtained a copy of his original text, I was shocked to see a picture of him:  A youthful, rakish and quite handsome man who could be convincingly played in a movie by Brad Pitt.  Who would have thought?  It turns out he was an interesting and creative person, an artist and a painter, and it is clear that these interests informed his work as a psychiatrist.

When I was first introduced to the Rorschach Inkblot Test as a second year graduate student in psychology in 1986, I was quite skeptical about it usefulness.  But over the course of a year-long class, with the assistance of a marvelous teacher and mentor, I began to understand its potential, when used intelligently in the context of a person's history and a fully battery of other tests.  I will always remember how excited I felt about learning, and how surprised I was that I was so captivated by the Rorschach and other assessment instruments.  Over the years, with further education, training, supervision and clinical experience, I have developed an even deeper appreciation for Rorschach's test.  And when it came to pass that I began to teach psychology graduate students about psychodiagnostic assessment myself, it was the instrument that I loved teaching the most. 

I remember, though, how overwhelming it all was in the beginning.  The system of administration, scoring and interpretation seemed so complex:  A sea of detailed instructions, scores, codes, derivations and ratios.  D scores, Color Shading Blends, Affective Ratios, form quality, S-CON, CDI, ALOG, FABCOM:  It was a whole new language.  I was so in awe of my instructors and supervisors, I didn't imagine that I could ever learn it all.  And yet, over time, while I won't say that I have learned "it all" by any stretch of the imagination, I have learned and internalized a lot, and now can look at a summary of all those ratios and percentages and numbers and not only not be overwhelmed, but feel that the data may make sense. 

I always remembered this when I was teaching.  Students would be overwhelmed and often try to imbue me with some sort of special capacity because it seemed to them that I understood it all effortlessly.  (And I had felt this way with my own teachers, as well).  And I would remind them that I was once where they were.  That all learning is a matter of doing, over and over and over again.  That in time, with repetition, with study and experience, they would develop an understanding, a feel for it, as well. 

So having developed a certain level of competence in my own field, I now find myself a student once again, in my career as a photographer.  And it is humbling.  I recently began reading Joe McNally's book, The Hot Shoe Diaries.  Or I should say, trying to read it.  It is a beautiful book about light, lighting, photography, and is an inspiring and educational look into the thinking of a first-rate photographer.  On pages 6 and 7 he has a photo of all his equipment.  I recognize the camera, lenses, battery packs, even his leatherman tool and sharpies.  But the rest of it - the sea of lights, filters, diffusers, clamps, stands, light shapers...Well, it's just overwhelming.  A Justin Clamp?  An SB-800?  An SC-29 cord? An 80-20 attachment? FV lock, I-TTL and rear versus front curtain?  Yowza.  And I am back again, feeling as I did as a student, looking at my first Rorschach responses, and worrying that I will never even learn to speak the language, let alone understand it all.

So what's with the flower picture?  Well, I am sure that this orchid has a botanical name, but I don't know what it is.  I only know that when I saw it, it reminded me of an inkblot (not to mention quite a sweet little face - I mean, look at that little nose, the mouth, the eyes...)  And so I named it, "Rorschach's Orchid" to honor the creativity of an amazing young man so many years ago, and to acknowledge a part of my other professional life that means so much to me.  

This botanical portrait reminds me about artistic and scientific creativity.  It reminds me of humbling lessons about teaching and learning. It reminds me that, one day, I may really understand what a "hot shoe" is and perhaps even be able to use it to improve my images.  In a strangely reassuring way, Rorschach's Orchid reminds me that it is developmentally appropriate that I now sometimes feel so overwhelmed.  Because while I have been living and working with inkblots for the past 23 years, I only have been developing my formal relationship with pixels and light for a much shorter time.  I am on a new journey to develop skills in this new field.  I know I won't ever be a Joe McNally.  But with each book or article I read, with each conference or seminar I attend, with each photographer and artist I learn from, and with each image I make, I know that I am growing and developing as a competent and creative photographer.  And I am reminded of the excitement I felt when I first began to understand the complexities and power of Dr. Rorschach's test.    Stephanie

Reflections on Reflection (Or Why Is That Banner Picture Upside Down?)

"No one can see their reflection in running water.  It is only in still water that we can see."  Taoist Proverb.

I am a psychologist by training and perhaps that is one of the reasons why I am so curious about perception, misperception, reflection, how we develop as people, and the nature of reality and illusion.  The concept of the role of reflection in development is particularly interesting. In psychological terms, it is thought that in infancy and childhood we initially develop a sense of ourselves, a sense of who we are as individual people and who we are in relationship to another, in part by way of interpreting the reflection of ourselves that we see in our caretaker's eyes.  The other is a "mirror" whose early role is to help us "see" who we are.  Ideally, in time, we become able to look into the eyes of another and see them and who they are, as well as ourselves.  Others do not just have to serve the function of "mirroring" us, but are experienced as whole and complex in and of themselves. This is a developmental achievement.  These concepts of reflection, the relationship of the reflection to that which is reflected, and the changing nature of what is reflected (both in real and metaphorical terms) are fascinating to me. 

So perhaps it is no surprise that I have developed a photographic interest in reflections.  We can see reflections in many places, but one of the most compelling to me is in water.  Because water has a life and movement of its own, there becomes an interesting relationship between that which is reflected and the water.  What do we see when the water is still?  And what do we see when the water is running?

The image in the banner and the one to follow are reflections of tulips.  From an artistic view, I love the soft, impressionist quality that comes from the movement of the water.  Yet, the movement is quiet enough that the tulips are still clearly recognizable in all their colorful beauty.  From a more metaphorical stance, these images are compelling because they reflect (!) the beautiful strength of shape and color of the flowers, along with the delicate transience and movement towards change that is inherent in any living thing.

I prefer to show this image as I saw it:  The reflected view, with the tulips, well, upside down.  But it has been interesting to me that when I show this, most people instinctively turn the image around to see it as if it was the original view of the flowers - "right side" up. 

What does this mean?  I don't really know.  I only know that these reflected images, seen as they are, are beautiful and meaningful to my eye.  Perhaps we can see reflection in both still and running water.  Perhaps in my image I can show you how I see.   Perhaps I can show you another way to see.  And perhaps those are some of the great joys of photography.   Stephanie

A New Journey

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."  Lao Tzu

This entry is the first step into a new journey, one of many made over the last year.  It takes courage to leap into something new, but that is the excitement of it, as well.  Here is an image of Spring-time beauty and renewal to symbolize this new beginning. In their vibrant color and simple, elegant form, these tulips embody the idea of the artistic in the everyday.