Red Amaryllis

Here is an amaryllis that, from the package, I expected to be white (my intention and desire was to grow a white amaryllis) but turned out red. As it grew, at every stage I wondered, "Is this the right time, the auspicious moment to photograph this?" Yesterday I looked and everything told me, "Yes, this is it."

I set it under a spotlight and made this photograph. Within an hour of shooting, the two blossom heads began to separate and this progressed through the morning until there were two distinct flower buds.

From the perspective of duality, reality is the world of opposites; it has to be either/or, up/down, time/non-time, but unity is always there. It's like the sun hiding behind the clouds. In choosing that moment to photograph my amaryllis I was aware of the precarious balance between here and there; through my lens I witnessed the play between these two worlds of duality and unity consciousness, two very real worlds that live both as one and side by side. There is always an edge of truth between unity and duality, a fleeting, transient edge of truth. It's a calm place.

Colors of Tuscany

Years ago, I was traveling in Italy on my way to Tunisia and picked up a postcard of a watercolor scene from Siena. It was of a beautiful passage into the Via S. Agata, and the image has been a romanticized vision in my head ever since. I was so excited on my recent trip with my mom to spend some time in Siena, wandering the old, tuscan colored streets and finally appreciating (and photographing) the famous archway I had collected on a postcard some 28 years ago.

My mom, excited about the colors, talked about the raw umbers and burnt sienas from her first set of paints as a young artist. They are antique colors, full of warmth and softer than I imagined in the fading, cool light of late Fall.

This photograph hangs next to my watercolor postcard in my mind, as a celebration of coming full circle; from past to present and from paint to pixels.

Horsepower

No Midlife Crisis here. He invested in horsepower.

I'm always drawn to photograph unusual doors and windows. They are like portals into worlds I know nothing about. I had a visceral response to this door while wandering around what looked like a warehouse district in Tacoma. Someone had spray-painted the word "NO" on it in neon yellow. I liked it's abrubt quality; the way it commanded the space on that cracked and peeling door.

Taken in the setting of this retro-urban environment, I appreciated its spontaneous "counter-culture" message; a universal response to all of the bull-shit that ever was and ever will be.

And aesthetically, at least for me, a door with a neon "NO" is more interesting than just a door.

Urban Shangri-La

I think of the domed fountain at the Seattle Center as an urban Shangri-La. On a hot summer day it becomes a giant fire-hydrant, the center of the earth for throngs of happy children. I grew up around Seattle and the scene depicted in this image is so familiar to me that I can practically hear the loud music from the PA system and feel the spray in my face. But I like the way it has a universal feel to it, like it could be anywhere, because children everywhere behave the same way around water on a hot day.

Photo Walk '09

I've been busy this week going through the images I captured last Saturday for the Annual Worldwide Photo Walk. When I heard about this event I knew I wanted to be part of it; the idea of thousands of photographers all over the world hitting the streets at (roughly) the same time, zooming, clicking, capturing whatever was there, whatever presented itself. My group met in downtown Tacoma. It felt like a treasure hunt as everyone headed out in search of his or her own pictorial prize; an image, or maybe more than one, that always seems to be out there, just waiting for you to claim it with your unique perspective. The weather was clear and hot. There were beautiful, stark shadows everywhere which I love for their strong, graphic lines. In this photo of two red umbrellas I used the shadows to counter the bright, vivid color and my lens baby to blur the edges.

Breathe

Breathe
Breathe
as the ocean breathes.

Follow the rolling

swells and notice,

the clattering of pebbles
of your chattering mind.

like fragments of torn hearts

mended smooth as

an oceanic prism;
a heart-mind of changing

shapes and colors.

 

Barbed-Wire Spiral

I got a link on Facebook recently from my cousin, a piece from a literary online art gallery on improvisational surrealism. Featured there was the work and ideas of Rodney Tuttle who says, "Grab a camera and walk out into the world; treat the world like a gigantic surrealistic sculpture and capture some surreal images." 

I love to do this.  This image of some tangled up barbed-wire draped across a chain link fence is an odd juxtaposition, my take on the "sculpturally surreal", and I like the improvisational feel of it.  I watched as many people walked right by without seeming to notice it, how out of place and strange it seemed there on a pedestrian walkway.  

Kristin

This photo was taken on a retreat to a lodge in eastern Washington with a large group of women. It was a girls' getaway weekend experience, complete with a mountain view, hot tub and a full service bar. There was sunshine by day and a chill in the air at night; there were stories to be told and bare feet to toast by the fire. There were peals of laughter, long walks and time alone to explore with my camera. This shot of Kristin was special to me. We were curious about the whereabouts of a wedding party we had seen posing for pictures on the lawn and went out in search of it; me the paparazzi and Kristin the hopeful wedding crasher. We only found a few hikers and a pavillion full of empty white chairs. I was playing with my lens baby that weekend and I had her sit down on a randow chair. The light was perfect. It works as a portrait of Kristin because there is genuine warmth and strength in it. She went looking for a throng of people and found herself, instead, swallowed up by a sea of empty chairs. She seemed to embrace the humor in the situation and appeared completely at ease. There is a subtle impression the photo leaves me with, something about her gaze in the direction of the setting sun that is both vulnerable and optimistic.

Offerings for The Buddha

This first full moon of May is in the Buddhist tradition the anniversary of the Buddha's birth, his enlightenment and his passing from this world.

I offer this photograph to commemorate his birthday, and thank him for his many jewels of wisdom.

Here is one that I have found to be especially useful:

Do not pursue the past. Do not lose yourself in the future. The past no longer is, and the future has not yet come. Look deeply at life, just as it is arising in the very here and now. Recognize it--invincible, unshakable. Care for it with your heart and mind. The Buddha

Musings of an Urban Angel

Urban Angel-Mexico City

The stillness at dawn

ruptures all dreams

Three Wet Kids

I was going through some old things recently and came across this photograph, Three Wet Kids. I think it was taken in '88 or '89 while living in Michigan, just before moving to Switzerland. These children were on their own and spoke little English. It's out of focus and harshly lit, but I like it.

I read an article on one of my favorite Photographers, Richard Avedon, where Avedon describes a photograph he made while on vacation in Sicily... "Technically amateurish, an almost unprintable negative, but from the moment I took it I had some inarticulate sense that the image mattered to me. There was something autobiographical about it- in that boy, his smile, his overeagerness, and his shoulders thrown back so violently and vulnerably." That's how I felt with these three kids, turning their gaze briefly, curiously, toward me before running back down the beach. It was a fleeting encounter but has endured in my memory and still speaks to me of strength and vulnerability.

I have learned to pay attention to images that matter to me, to acknowledge they are important without knowing why.

Urban Graphic

I am working on an Urban Graphic Series, a graphic approach to urban street photography. The photographs I've collected for this series were taken mostly in my home town of Seattle. I use my camera to collect digital photo-sketches of urban life that express moments of clarity within a visually chaotic scene. For me they are visual haiku, distilled images that cut through the clutter and noise.

Graphic Color

My eye naturally leans toward subjects where color or a strong graphic structure dominates. I think about balance and perspectice when working with an image and I have an aversion to visual clutter. I value brevity and simplicity, much like the form of poetry I'm drawn to most often is Haiku.

In the image shown here, I have used color as the predominant element of design. The bright red wall of the fish tank overtakes the strong, graphic lines and contrast of the composition. I think it's because of the basic, primal level that red seems to operate on. I couldn't get away from thinking about the fish, once lively and flashing through the waters of the Sea of Cortez; now on ice. One juror said it was "effective and strange with the red, black and white strength and the fish upside down with eyes wide open."

People Shadows

When it comes to photographing people I am somewhat of a coward. The direct opposite of paparazzi, I seem to always choose an oblique angle or shoot into the shadows people cast so as not to be too intrusive. It's partly to avoid the legal issues involved with photographing people and obtaining model releases, etc. But I think it's also to do with the way I see things; the way I tend to break an image down into negative space and the elements of design. This gives me a much less literal approach to my subjects. I look for the shapes and angles in the shadows that loosely define the human form. They seem to be both solid and ethereal; mysterious entities with lives of their own. I think of Carl Jung's treatise on the importance of integrating our shadow selves; or Balinese shadow puppetry where the spiritual is given theatrical expression and the shadowy shapes define the characters.

Window Shopping

Window Shopping is a series I've been working on, a collection of things in shop windows. They represent the transient, illusory nature of our material world and the desires that emerge from it.

Window Shopping is a metaphor for the never ending pursuit of fulfillment, of goals that change like seasonal window displays, catching our eye and feeding into a vague sense of longing. Objects of desire, seen in shop windows, are like moving targets. We can't seem to pin them down or make them last. We can possess them briefly, but once possessed they lose their magic.

In Sanskrit there is an ancient piece of wisdom, "Tat Tvam Asi", which translates in English to "Thou Art That". I describe it as a bridge that helps us reach the realization of unity. Whether molecules happen to be arranged this way or that way, a human being, a white dress, a piece of glass; we are all essentially the same stuff and very much connected.

There is a scene from a popular movie in which the main character has just arrived in Rome. The light is reflected on her face and as she takes in the beauty around her, she embodies peace in that moment. She seems to have slipped into a kind of daydream; a merging of what only moments ago seemed two separate realities.

Moments like these are gifts that reveal the illusion of 'this vs. that', of 'me vs. not me'. They point to new possibilities that lie just beyond our conditioned patterns of perception.

If I look into a shop window, I see many things behind and reflected in the window glass, including myself. Who's to say where one leaves off and the other begins? Maybe the universe is like a Venn Diagram, with three parts... a shaded portion that intersects with everything and falls within our perception, unshaded portions that are not always perceived but still have boundaries and an infinite portion that spills outside of the diagram itself.

Abstract Shadows

My abstract studies in shadow, pattern and reflection come from a peculiar way of seeing, of always being drawn to the light and serendipity of a scene. Angles of light interfacing with solid shapes create a lot of interesting visual phenomena.
Abstracting from reality is a visual exercise; a probing into the dynamics of pattern, shadow and reflection. I look for repeating shapes, unusual points of view or a fortunate presentation of elements in a scene. I sometimes extract my subjects from their ordinary context to create ambiguity. I like the challenge it poses to our sensibilities, our need to make sense of the world.

Blue Buddha

There is a bonsai garden about 30 minutes away from our home in a small town with not much more to offer than a gas station, a gun shop and a strip club. I decided to go there one day, with my camera, hoping to find a fortunate location for photos.

I found the garden in the midst of a construction site. The first thing I noticed were stone Buddha statues, lined up like sentinels in front of the gift shop. They were beautiful. Then, I entered the garden, which appeared to be in need of maintenance. The paths were strewn with debris and the plants seemed to be struggling. The place had a neglected quality that left me feeling uneasy, especially when I leaned over a rain barrel and saw a dead rat floating in the water.

Then I turned the corner and there was a pond filled with water lilies. Again, beautiful. I thought of the lotus blossom and what it symbolizes in Buddhist culture; the soul's journey through the mud of materialism, through the waters of experience and into the bright sun of transcendence.

I got this shot, Blue Buddha, on my way out. According to Buddhist scripture, Blue Buddha is the Buddha of medicine and healing, the color blue symbolizing coolness, infinity and ascension.

Things I've Seen From My Window

Things I've Seen From My Window

Wires cut my view

into long pieces of blue sky

where trees have given up
the business of growing.

The cat skull has blown off

the fence-post again, this time

into the wild, blooming poppies.

At last, a proper resting place.

The old shed is falling down.
Morning dew shines across
the leaves and slanted boards,
a trellis for blackberries and cobwebs.

The frog catching net lies

broken under the willow tree.

"Frogzilla" croaks nearby,

victorious, at his 4 year old nemesis.

The rowboat has escaped

from the dock, again.

Slantwise it glides

unfettered across the pond.

Paula Suter ©2000

Mexico, A Photographic Journey

This past week The Wall Street Journal featured an article illustrating the worsening problem of drug cartels in Mexico. It saddens me to see this happening in Mexico, a country that I love to explore and photograph. I think of the friendly people who have extended their hospitality to my family over the years.

Following is an excerpt from a book project I am working on entitled
Mexico, A Photographic Journey of Color and Light.

In Mexico, I’m inspired by the folk art and spirit of creativity in the people. The language of myth and magic animates the culture and breathes life into religion. I think of the “Day of the Dead” as a day when the veil separating the dead from the living is thin, a prism through which the pain of loss gathers life into sharper focus, as if death can spark an even greater passion for life. A dark satirical twist and humor often shows up in the art, music and literature of Mexico. Especially memorable for me are the Day of the Dead Figurines, carved out of wood and displayed with bottles of tequila and bouquets of crepe paper flowers.

We do not see things as they are...

I first came across these lines from the Talmud years ago, and remember thinking how beautifully they get to the point. The words have a zen quality for me. They point to the idea that past conditioning shapes much of what we see, think, do or say. Conditioning is a prism of filters...Some filters are rose-colored, some are neutral and others are dark or obscured. Zen asks, What is it like without filters? What if you could experience something directly?  I think Haiku masters have come close to achieving this.

Are my photographs self portraits? Take this picture of my mom's wedding gown, which I consider to be an interesting self-portrait. It is full of tones that are either very dark or very light. It was taken shortly after I was married during a time of ups and downs. I have a vague memory of grabbing my camera and my mom's wedding dress and heading down to the wooded creek behind our secluded little rental house. I had no plans and can't recall what I intended to do with it. I ended up hanging it on some low lying branches and snapped away as it floated on the breeze.

Age of Aquarius

And finally, there was the girl playing her violin, pictured here, at the public market in Seattle. There was something Madonna-like in her face, in her serene expression; her melody was rendered all the more sweet in the midst of the bustling street... people passing without seeming to notice..

A Memory of Cherry Blossoms

I think of Soapbox Photo as a new medium for examining what it is I'm communicating through photography. Since this is a space I am devoting to the interconnection of images and ideas and stories, I thought I would begin by posting this photo of a ceramic figure captured after a snowfall along the Seattle Waterfront. The image had a Haiku feel to it so I looked through my Haiku books and found this poem by Den Sute-jo (1634-1698)

Yuki no asa / ni no ji ni no ji no / geta no ato,
or translated from Japanese by Hiroaki Sato:

Morning snow;
figure two figure two
wooden clog marks.

It seemed an interesting companion for this image. I saw an air of nostalgia in the woman's expression. I felt a Haiku of my own which I included in the photograph.

Just as every digital image file is embedded with metadata (invisible pieces of information that determine its visual content), every photograph is embedded with messages, emotions and the idiosyncratic leanings of the photographer. It's part of my creative process to look at an image and ask myself what I see in it. Photography sometimes feels like an act of rebellion in a hyper-mobile world, a vain attempt to seize it before it changes or disappears, to freeze it in time and give it space on my hard drive. But what makes a photograph most interesting for me is the emotion that comes through and the knowledge that the captured image embodies the impermanent nature of our world and our lives. The moment is here and then gone. The photograph becomes not only the tangible proof that it ever existed, but an unflinching reminder that life is a constant stream of letting go in order to be present.