Just a Minute

For the first couple decades of my life, I felt I had no voice. Photography gave me a voice, became my voice. Everything I feel, from the bottom of my heart to my eyeballs,

I can say with a photograph.

When exhibiting in galleries or museums, directors ask for a bio and an artist statement. Writing a bio? No problem. Writing a statement? I would think to myself, "Just look at

my work! Right there is what I have to say at this moment." I'm tempted to send in a document that reads “My work is my artist statement. Please observe.” 

Some artists enjoy composing cryptic, pseudo-intellectual essays. I challenged

someone about her pretentious statement and she offered that “it reads well.” Does it?

I do understand that a statement gives insights, so of course I eventually end

up struggling over the task for days, even weeks. My feelings won’t be hurt

if you don’t read it. 

I really love sharing my photographs. I hope people feel something. All the better if

an image spurs a challenge to their perspective.

My website is an exhibit of how I see the world. My blog indulges my compulsion to

write. I invite you to come back once a week or so to enjoy these short musings.

It will take just a minute of your time.

Hurkle Durkle Versus the Cafe

One of my office spaces at home is my bed. The Scottish use the term “hurkle durkle"

to describe lounging in bed long after you should get up. I prefer to call it “hurkle workle.” My supervisors, tuxedo cats JuJuBe and Josie, make sure I’m on task as I conduct

business on my laptop.

Occasionally I’m bold enough to get up and out before 8:30am to drive to The New

Baking Company here in Santa Fe. Cafe life might conjure images of millennials or

Gen Z with fancy coffee drinks and oversized almond croissants but at NBC we are…

older. So much older. Although there are plenty of breakfast sweets, we are more likely

to order the “Cowboy Breakfast” or smothered breakfast burritos. Lattes? Nah, just four

vats of coffee to refill as we please.

The parade of customers is a delight for this photographer. My preferred table is in the

back where the light pours in and everyone is silhouetted. Many of the photos I make

are from that vantage point. Periodically I'll move around and ask an interesting looking person - maybe they are reading an actual book or doing the NYT crossword puzzle -

if I can photograph them. 

Many of the guests are regulars. We greet each other warmly. Never has anyone

suggested we sit together. We want our own space. Each of us has our own reasons

for being there. I’m just the red-haired woman who takes photos. What a sweet slice of Americana, Santa Fe style.

Don't Be Shy

Nothing is more compelling to me, as a photographer, than the human species.

Not shy by nature, I am nevertheless hesitant to approach someone in a public place.

Any time I've not approached a fascinating person, I've regretted it. What is there to lose? They say "no" to me? So what?

Michael was gently placing succulents into planters at Sunport International Airport in Albuquerque. Oh, that mustache! Those gloved hands carefully cradling a prickly plant! What was he listening to on his ear buds?

He was eager to pose for me, and gave me his number so I could send him the image.

It took three weeks for him to respond saying he appreciated the photo and my attention.

Whenever I capture a face I feel honored to have met him or her. For a few seconds we don't care about who we voted for or if we like black jelly beans. We see each other.

Our lives are better off for a couple of minutes. It's worth the risk.