This was an interesting year in terms of weather. Winter wasn’t particularly harsh, and there wasn’t as much snow as there had been in previous years.
But April was brutal and damp. People seemed to be ready for spring, but Mother Nature had a different plan. Just as we were beginning to dust off our bicycles, hiking shoes, and gardening tools, multiple snow squalls and chilly temperatures sent us scrambling back to our cozy indoors.
On the bright side, we were treated to beautiful views—dramatic, darkened skies punctuated by glimpses of much-craved sunshine.
But that was April. Now it’s May, and springtime is here.
There’s a lot that can be said about the year 2017. I prefer to focus on the positive, and it’s easier for me to do so through images than words. So here’s a gallery of photos I took in 2017. Many of these images I’ve already posted on Facebook or Instagram, but it’s nice to have them all together here in a commercial-free environment. I hope you enjoy them.
Recently, for personal enrichment, I completed an online photography course taught by the legendary artist Annie Leibovitz. I am enjoying learning more about photographing people, and I’m looking forward to taking my photography to a new level in 2018.
Interested in purchasing prints or a license to republish any of these photos? Get in touch.
For a second year in a row, my photos were selected to represent the months of the year in Dave Hayes the Weather Nut’s 2018 Wall Calendar. The photo gallery above shows the chosen photographs. Enjoy.
My newest painting portrays Mt. Tom, as seen from the Fort Hill section of Easthampton, Massachusetts. Early summer corn grows in the foreground.
A friend of mine was looking for some art to hang on the wall of his new office, so I obliged. I produced this 44 by 55 inch acrylic-on-canvas painting in one month. I also built a custom frame from select pine, and painted it a deep “espresso” color.
In years past, I might have taken several months to complete a work of this size. This time, I was thankful for the tight deadline, and the opportunity to try a new approach to getting work done more efficiently.
This is one from a series of about 50 “Gocco” silkscreen prints I made in the late 1990s (and one of the few that remain in my collection).
The original was a film photo taken by my dear old friend Ben Ostiguy (swimmer4buzzardsbay on Instagram). It’s a picture of yours truly on my bicycle, crossing the bridge over the Connecticut River between Hadley and Northampton, Massachusetts, circa 1991 when much of the Norwottuck Rail Trail had yet to be paved. Ben and I were out gathering photographic imagery for a painting class we were both taking at UMass, and we scouted out the nascent trail off-road style.
I first used the image to illustrate a haiku poem in a chapbook titled “Little Deaths” that I’d written, bound, and self-published in 1995:
When in a painting
you see a beckoning road,
then down it you go!
A few years later I happened to salvage a trove of genuine WWII-era aeronautical maps of Europe that the folks at the W. E. B. Du Bois Library at UMass had been planning to throw out. I used the maps as substrates for a handful of collages and paintings. But none of those projects were as successful as this print run, which supplied me with greeting cards for years.
I suppose I ought to scan the last two or three I have left, and make some giclée prints. There’s nothing quite like an original, though. The way the ink layers interact with each other and with the paper is hard to reproduce via modern printing processes.
A recent unilateral attempt by the Greater Springfield Convention and Visitors Bureau and the Economic Development Council of Western Massachusetts to rebrand our region as “West Mass” strikes me as arrogant, short-sighted, and wasteful. It astounds me that these two organizations would embark upon such a far-reaching effort without involving the greater community in the discussion (until after-the-fact). And it is shocking that the groups paid $80,000 to an Oklahoma-based agency (Cubic Creative) to do the design work, when Western Massachusetts boasts a slew of homegrown creative agencies.
The term “West Mass” is grammatically awkward. “Western” is more adjective-like, and would have been a better choice. “West Mass” sounds like a social media hashtag that someone spent two minutes thinking up. I grant that there are precedents for using “west” as an adjective: we accept West Virginia and the West Coast as sounding normal, for example. But Western Massachusetts already has a couple of wonderful, valuable, and marketable nicknames: the Pioneer Valley, and the Berkshires. I live in the former, so I’ll focus my thesis here.
When I hear the word “Pioneer,” I don’t immediately think of the stereotypes of Conestoga wagons, tumbleweeds, Remington rifles, and people sporting either cowboy hats or sunbonnets. I think of the conceptual associations of the word: “leader,” “first,” “independent,” and, yes, “maverick.” This is exactly what the economic development experts are trying to project, right? It’s all right here, in the word “Pioneer”! (How’s that for a slogan?)
Who cares whether or not the term “the Pioneer Valley” (also known as “the Happy Valley”) isn’t well-known outside of our region? Maybe “the Pioneer Valley” is the secret pet name that you get to know only after you’ve invested some time living here. There are other ways to develop an economy and attract external investment than trying to shoehorn people into a new, inauthentic identity. Instead of worrying about external investment, how might we stimulate our economy from within? High-speed rail service between Springfield and Boston would stimulate tourism and employment opportunities. Let’s keep working on that. Perhaps we could draw more attention to all the healthy outdoor activities and unspoiled mountains and valleys that give context, beauty, and meaning to our day-to-day lives here. Or perhaps an organization could invest in the revitalization of one of the scores of boarded-up buildings in downtown Holyoke.
It boggles my mind that anyone living in Western Massachusetts would see the new wordmark and think, “Ah, this represents us.” I’ve let it sink in for a couple of months, hoping that it would grow on me. But it still doesn’t resonate. The logo feels generic, and it is typographically-awkward. The slanted “M” is unstable, and the offset alignment calls attention to “ass.” The orange-and-turquoise color scheme feels more like Miami than New England. The brand does not sufficiently express the historical, cultural, and geographical attractions that make our region special. Are we so desperate for economic stimulation that any old solution will suffice? And speaking of solutions, they are most effective when they proceed from well-defined problems. What was the problem here? And how does an $80,000 orange and teal logo propose to solve it?
If self-ordained economic development experts are going to invest in a logo and brand that looks—to be honest—straight out of the 1980s, I say we bring back the “Make it in Massachusetts” campaign, which was warm and charming, and didn’t take itself too seriously. But “West Mass”? It leaves me cold.
The identity of a region runs deeper than the superficiality of commerce, and any attempt to stimulate commerce by tampering with this identity should be approached with solemnity and respect. Importantly, the process should involve all of the region’s constituents—not just its businesses. This lackluster rebranding effort reflects little care or compassion toward the people of our region. It fails to consider our sovereignty and our character.
The Pioneer Valley—my home for three decades—will always be the Pioneer Valley to me, regardless of any misguided attempts to serve me a new identity. Western Massachusetts (I don’t mind spelling it out) is already abundant. We have: once-thriving mill towns in various stages of recovery and reuse, farms, farmers’ markets, community-supported agriculture, colleges, excellent public- and alternative schools, mountains, rivers, dinosaur footprints, waterfalls, fish ladders, cosmopolitan small cities and towns, world-class art museums and restaurants, artists, mom-and-pop shops, shopping malls, a music scene, rock stars, literary heroes, microbreweries, coffee roasteries, manufacturing, high-tech industries, environmental industries, energy industries, boating, hiking, sky-diving, swimming, alternative medicine, political activism, civil disobedience, open-mindedness, and tolerance. Through it all, we manage to get along with each other.
Of course, the region also boasts its share of poverty, drug abuse, crime, inequality, entitlement, racial tension, sexism, traffic, urban sprawl, seasonal pollen, humid summers, potholes, decaying infrastructure, Massholes, and other detractors. Any economic development plan worth its salt ought to address these issues from the inside, and by soliciting input from the greater community. The Pioneer Valley—the place and the term—is big enough to contain and reflect all of our multitudes. I’m sticking with it.
Vimeo—one of the services where I host my videos—offers a recurring workshop they call the Weekend Challenge. The 2016 Memory Bank episode challenges filmmakers to create a short film (under 3 minutes) out of their orphaned video clips from the year.
Until I learned about this assignment, I hadn’t given much thought to how many videos I’d recorded incidentally over the course of the year, nor whether they would fit together into a coherent narrative. I was surprised to discover that yes, they did. I hadn’t done very much work in this “video montage” style, so it was a new and interesting challenge.
I’d also never begun a movie project with the music. Previously, I had only added music to films after making the video part, like adding spices or a garnish to a meal. But using that approach has often resulted in movies where the music seemed like a poor fit or an afterthought.
This time around, I approached the project as a music video. (I was a big fan of MTV back in the early 1980s.) I started by writing and recording the music using Apple’s GarageBand software, overdubbing piano, synthesizer, and drum loops.
Then I imported the song into the Final Cut Pro video editing software, and added video clips to the song’s rhythmic timeline (versus the other way around). I liked this approach—it shifted my way of thinking and got me out of a couple of ruts I had slipped into.
I’m not exactly sure of the overarching theme among the clips. In 2016 I traveled more than usual. I had surgery. I got sick a couple of times. I had a good year at work and some pretty great times with family and friends. I got outdoors and did some hiking and bicycling. I played hockey. I grew some amazing garlic. I made sprouts. I learned to roast my own coffee. I took a bunch of photos and movies. I made four paintings. I published. I tried to improve. I learned some new technological skills. All the while a relentless and dissonant political battle raged in the background. My team lost, twice.
Perhaps the theme is one of continuing to be kind, creative, resilient, graceful, and happy despite the challenging nature of the times. Or maybe the lesson is simply to focus on the good stuff in life, because there really is so much of it to be enjoyed and shared. Hopefully this short film captures some of the happy highlights.
A few years ago I set about to make a series of hand-painted canvas tote bags. I ordered a couple dozen plain canvas bags online. I drew up a simple, happy, graphic image that seemed like it would be easy to reproduce. I cut out a paper stencil so that I could transfer the drawing consistently from bag to bag. I cleared all the flat surfaces in my studio. Then I got busy making the acrylic paintings.
My original intention had been to put these on Etsy, sell a bunch of them, and fund my next art project. But they languished in my Etsy shop, and I never sold a single one. I ended up giving most of the bags away to friends and family members, and of course I’ve kept a couple for my own use. I may have one or two left; if you want one, please get in touch.
The photo gallery below shows the process I devised to make the paintings. Instead of painting each bag’s image from start to finish, I used the mass-production approach: I performed each step on all of the bags before proceeding to the next step. So for example, first I painted a rectangle of white primer (gesso) onto each of the bags and let it dry. Then I stenciled my sketch onto each of the bags. Then I painted the blue sky onto each of the bags. And so on. The later detail steps were a bit more improvisational, so there are minor differences among the paintings that hopefully add some character.
Update November 13, 2016: I took down the show. I have updated the tenses in this post to reflect the new reality.
I exhibited some of my photographs at Mt. Tom’s Homemade Ice Cream in Easthampton, Massachusetts, October 8th through November 11th, 2016. There was an opening reception on Saturday, October 8th (as part of Easthampton’s monthly Art Walk). I loved seeing you there!
I like to take photos involving outdoor scenes, trees, water, earth, and sculpted clouds. These days I share a lot of my work online, but it has been a while since I’ve shown the physical artifacts of the process. When my friend and fellow artist Jim Ingram asked me if I’d like to show my work at his ice cream shop, I said yes.
Originally I was going to show paintings. I’ve made a few of those over the past couple of years, but not enough to fill a whole show. Later, I thought that I might show a mix of a few paintings and a few prints. But after reviewing my whole available body of work, I decided to narrow the focus to one medium, and stick to photos. I’m glad I did, because in this case it made for a more cohesive show. The prints for this show were all either 12 by 12-inch squares, or 11 by 14-inch rectangles.
Please enjoy the gallery above, which offers a glimpse of the photos that were in the show. Please get in touch if you’d like to buy one. Soon I will be listing them in my Etsy shop.
I’ve been enjoying taking photos at night and at the blue hour, using my Olympus camera, a tripod, and a long exposure. The time of day (9:10 p.m.) was the crucial element in this shot, because at this time of year, at my latitude, there’s still enough ambient light to take a four-second exposure that reveals some details in the landscape.
Moreover, with the sun already sunk below the horizon, the sky’s light is predominantly blue in hue, which makes a nice cool counterpoint for the warmer LED light that spills out from my barn through windows and cracks between the boards, illuminating swaths of grass and garden.