When Are We?

When Are We?

everything that is

is consequence

everything that was

was consequence

everything that will be

will be consequence

everything

that is

is consequence

a question?

when do we plan an action?

a question?

when do we begin an action?

The Mourner’s Plague

The Mourner’s Plague

The core of my love

was so injured last evening,

I began to burn the candles

and take a pin-ray of their Sun

to pierce my mourner’s veil.

“It’s gone! It’s gone!” I said of poison

that flamed a moody wound,

in hope a wax-fed light

could ban the dark venom.

Then in crept the Night with a humid air

to condense upon my heart,

and slide in drops of blood to jell

a lamp without a wick.

Dennis Fredrick Evans

A report on Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy Report

Toxicodendron radicans

          On June 5, I wrote of an incident on that day when I came in contact with Poison Ivy while harvesting Horsetail along a bike trail. (see June 5 Post) I crushed some nearby Jewelweed between my hands and rinsed them off in the river. I am now reporting that no outbreak of irritation or blisters has occurred in fifty-six hours since contact, and I assume a reaction will not occur. Not only is this a relief to me, but I am happy to know how to respond to a brush with Poison Ivy away from home, providing that Jewelweed is in the vicinity. Even if flowing water had not been available, the Jewelweed may have been a viable antidote to the toxic oil of the Poison Ivy. This thought is supported by Euell Gibbons in his book Stalking the Healthful Herbs. Does this mean I can be carefree around Poison Ivy as long as Jewelweed is near? By no means. But the implication is that if by accident or carelessness I contact the plant, I can have confidence that use of Jewelweed will likely prevent a severe reaction. When hiking from spring through fall, it would be wise to take some Jewelweed juice along. The plant can be crushed and steeped in water, allowed to steam down in volume, then taken in a break-proof container. The juice will not keep for more than a day out of the fridge and a new batch would need to be made for each trip. Ice cubes can be prepared for prolonged storage at home and taken along on a hike. A small bar of soap may also be a good thing to have on a hike.

          I will admit to being paranoid about Poison Ivy. To me it’s as hazardous as a venomous snake. However, as with a poisonous snake, the toxic plant has a role to play in the ecology of our planet. Every plant contains chemicals that ward off feeding creatures. Poison Ivy, if it were to have a personality or spirit, could be said to be as paranoid of being consumed as I am of being chemically burned. So I don’t hate the plant, I am cautious about it. I have read today that about 80% of humans react to the toxic chemical in Poison Ivy. But a butterfly will land on the plant to seek protection from predators. I have never seen a butterfly land on Poison Ivy, but now I will be looking for that. Poison Ivy can grow to the point of producing greenish/white berries that contain seeds which are eaten by birds, usually in the late fall. The seeds pass through the gut of a feeding bird and are dropped off to grow. 

 Poison Ivy Berries – in late spring

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          My brief research on Poison Ivy has left me curious about possible uses for its effective chemical, Urushiol Oil. Don’t quote me on this, but I think I saw a brief reference to a connection between chemotherapy and urushiol. I need to check on that. Who knows – maybe Poison Ivy can be a healing herb if used properly.

The History of My Photography

Continued from June 1 post…

          I began photographing with black-and-white film in 1994 and used color film only occasionally for the following ten years. I also built a chemical darkroom that year. As far as the visual arts are concerned, I have preferred abstract art. And in photography, the black-and-white medium has, in my opinion, the greatest potential for creating works at various levels of abstraction. The camera’s view of the world is an abstraction to begin with, created by its lens and internal frame that subtract and distort the visual data viewed by the eyes. That abstract function of the camera allows the mind to concentrate on a fraction of the broader vista that exists outside the camera. A black-and-white photograph is more abstract than one of color because color is subtracted from the visual information, letting the mind concentrate on the forms within the image. By manipulating the four major components of photographic composition - light, content, focus, and perspective - the abstract quality of an image can be increased to the point where the objects in a photograph are unidentifiable by the mind. “Tree Garden,” which happens to be a color print, is an example of an image whose abstraction is created by complete lack of focus, although the content is still recognizable. The subtraction of clear definition of form lets the mind concentrate on the fields of color.

 Tree Garden

          The only traditional still lifes I have done are in black-and-white. They are of flowers I brought indoors to photograph in a totally dark room. The making of those photographs, such as “Bleeding Hearts” and “Daffodil,” required more concentrated effort than any of my landscapes.

 Bleeding Hearts

 Daffodil

The “Barn Door,” which I consider to be a still life, is an example of what Schopenhauer was speaking when he wrote of the Dutch painters who, in their still life paintings of insignificant objects, demonstrated the objective artist’s ability to present a transcendent meaning to ordinary experience. Old barns, in a degenerative state, convey a sense of the corruptibility of physical things. One year after I photographed the “Barn Door” I returned to see the door completely fallen to the ground and most of the charm of the old barn had disappeared. I had photographed the barn during the optimum period of its metaphorical phase. From 1994 onwards, I began to bring the subject of my photography in closer to me, cutting out more and more of the context either by limiting the focus or excising the surrounding content. Old barns and abandoned old trucks became two of my favored subjects.

          To be continued…

          *******************

 Barn Door

 Pine Root

 Black Swallowtail

 Wiper

 Apple Tree

Snowy Mountainside

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The Three Priorities

The Three Priorities: My daily life is focused by three priorities: Involvement with Family, Artistic Work, and Personal Health. If I'm able to act on one or more of these priorities, I take note of the fact and choose to be satisfied with my day. If I don't engage in any of the three priorities, I feel frustrated and know why.

Personal Health: Herbalism

          This evening I intended to write about my photography, but an incident today has impelled me to write about my herbal practice instead.

          For a few weeks, I’ve been biking along the Tilton-Franklin trail that runs along the Winnipesaukee River. Because of the three-foot fall of snow this past winter, the ground is gorged with water, and vegetation everywhere in New England is showing abundant growth. This is the second year of my turn to herbalism as an alternative to modern medicine, and my first year of intense search for local, wild-crafted medicinal herbs. The focus of my search has been along the bike trail, where there is a wide variety of plant forms in lush growth. I use my camera to record the types of plants, their phases of growth, and their locations. Some plants I recognize, others I need to identify.

          A root of particular use to me is that of the Japanese Knotweed plant. I’ve found numerous, large patches of Knotweed, enough to supply me and hundreds of people for the rest of our lives. I discovered an herb new to me, also in abundance, called Horsetail, Equisetum arvense. I will write about these herbs another time.

 Japanese Knotweed

 Horsetail

(the spiny plants)

Horsetail

The incident I referred to occurred while I was harvesting Horsetail. Mingled in and flourishing with all the vegetation along the trail is the poisonous herb Poison Ivy. I am severely allergic to Poison Ivy, which I discovered last year when a slight brush with it on my left forearm resulted in a fiery eruption of blisters on both forearms that required a month to heal. So, I have been fearfully on the lookout for the Ivy, trying to assume it is always lurking under the safe plants. When I knelt down to clip some Horsetail stems, I first made sure there was no Ivy at that spot. But when I moved to another patch just a few feet away I lost my attention and my right hand came up from a clump of Horsetail with one leaf of Poison Ivy in my fingers. “Damn,” I yelled as I threw the leaf to the ground like it was a rattlesnake. I knew I had ten minutes in which to wash off the oil that was now on my fingers. Water was near in the flooding river, but I had no soap. There was, however, new growth of Jewelweed just across the path from the Poison Ivy.

 Jewelweed

I had read that Jewelweed was useful in curing Poison Ivy rashes, although I had never used Jewelweed for any purpose. In hope and desperation I pulled up five or six young Jewelweed plants, they weren’t at the flowering stage, and headed for the river. I rinsed off both hands in the river, then crushed a Jewelweed in my fingers, rolling the juicy plant between my hands as if it were a bar of soap. Then I rinsed off my hands again in the river. I repeated this process five times, but let the final application of the Jewelweed juice air-dry. I went back to pick more Jewelweed, which I brought home with me.

          When I got home, I did some reading on Jewelweed and its effect on Poison Ivy. The renowned herbalist Euell Gibbons explains how to use Jewelweed after exposure to Poison Ivy that was an exact description of what I did today. That was reassuring. I also read that such a practice usually prevents an outbreak or makes the outbreak less severe. By tomorrow evening, I will know what the consequences are in my case.

 

**************

Black & White Photography

The Three Priorities have been in tough competition with each other the past few days. Writing has been pressed down by daily bike riding. Yesterday I spent hours scrubbing the kitchen floor and other housecleaning in preparation for a visit with family today, and my friend John Going and I had our weekly phone conversation which revolves around a poetry project we’re working on. And today my daughter Karma and grandchildren Audriana and Devin drove two hours to spend the day with me and my wife Nancy. The business has been rewarding. My goal has been to post something every day, but I haven’t met it yet. Tonight, though, I’ll continue with sharing my black-and-white photography which I started to do on May 30. Tomorrow’s goal is to continue the History of My Photography – after I ride down a trail nearby to photograph wildflower plants for identification. Some of them may be medicinal herbs. I’ve already identified Horsetail along the path.

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 Fiddleheads

 Ice Molars

Photographing along the rivers of the White Mountains in winter reveals the strange and beautiful world of ice formations created by flowing water

 Rye Harbor

Along the southern coast of New Hampshire

 Steam Boat on Lee’s Mill Harbor

Lake Winnipesaukee in Moultenborough

 Crawford Notch

White Mountains, New Hampshire

Mount Washington

White Mountains, New Hampshire

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The History of My Photography

Continued from May 31 post…

          When planning the setup of my gallery I ignored the warning of a local merchant who advised me to drop the idea. Being a newcomer to the area, I was unaware of how short the tourist season is. The heavy traffic peaks during the months of July and August, almost dies in September, revives a little in October, and completely dies from November through May. My gallery was on Main Street and in the center of town, but located on the second floor, reached by a staircase on the outside of the building. I put a positive spin on the outcome of the business by referring to it as a financial failure but an artistic success.

          The meaning of financial failure is obvious, and artistic success meant simply that people liked my photography. The first photograph I sold was not one of a beautiful sunset on Wolfeboro Bay, but a simple shot of Main Street showing many of the shops and a long line of cars. And the purchaser was not a tourist, but a local resident. My best selling day of the entire nine months the gallery was open came near the end of the tourist season, on street-bargain day, when I set up a table at the bottom of the staircase. I was amazed at the number of people willing to buy when they didn’t have to climb a set of stairs to reach the gallery. The gallery venture was over within nine months, but the public’s response to my photographic work was positive enough to encourage me to continue with photography. A craft store had opened up that summer across the street from my gallery, and I showed my photography to the owner who thought it was good enough to sell. The craft store eventually expanded to include an art gallery,

and my photography sold there for almost twenty years. But the photography in the craft store was my old photography, the early landscapes that satisfied the tourists, of which “Sunrise on Rust Pond” and “Sunset on Lake Winnipesaukee” are examples. Besides, I was just practicing back in the early 1990s. The photography I came to consider “works of art” weren’t there. They weren’t marketable in a resort-town shop, according to the proprietor who wouldn’t promote them to customers. I am referring to most of my black and white photographs, excepting a few popular landscapes.

         

          To be continued...  



Here are more photographs from the period up to the mid 1990s that were “marketable.”

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 Mount Chocorua in Fall

Mount Chocorua Reflected

On Lake Chocorua

Wolfeboro Dockside

from Joe Green’s

 Old Man of the Mountain

 Arethusa Falls

Rattlesnake Island

on Lake Winnipesaukee

The History of My Photography

          I can recall the specific visual event and accompanying aesthetic impulse that eventually moved me to become an artistic photographer. The approximate year was 1986. I was driving northward along Interstate 91 in Vermont. The construction of I-91 had required that granite hills be blasted and cut to make way for the highway. I had driven through those granite passes numerous times and paid little attention to them. But, on one morning the warm-toned sunlight fell into the gorges at just an angle so that the rocks shown a gold color and the jagged corners of the cut stone made stark, long shadows. I experienced a feeling of awe at what I was seeing and wished I had a camera to photograph the rock formations. A Single Lens Reflex camera would have done the job for me. Up to that time, I had used small Brownie cameras to photograph family members and an occasional landscape scene that appealed to me. However, I had never experienced an emotional response to a scene that was strong enough to make me want to invest time and money in photography. Even so, I didn’t take up serious photography at that time because I was already invested in another art form. I had begun to paint what I eventually called “spiral line-art” paintings. I will describe those paintings another time. But, the impression of the granite gorges and my wish to have a camera suitable for artistic photography remained strong with me. Then I, my wife Nancy, and our son Jonathan moved from Brattleboro, Vermont to Wolfeboro, New Hampshire in the summer of 1989. I bought my first SLR camera before that fall.

          Wolfeboro is a well-known summer resort-town situated on Wolfeboro Bay, one of the major harbors on Lake Winnipesaukee. My interest in artistic photography was combined with an economic incentive. I saw in Wolfeboro’s tourism trade what I thought to be a good market for scenic photography and began to photograph the scenery around Wolfeboro that would appeal to the tourists – pictures of the yachts on the bay, the quaint shops on Main Street, and the beautiful landscape of Lake Winnipesaukee and the White Mountains. In the beginning, artistic photography was, for me, synonymous with landscape photography. I opened a photograph gallery in town in January 1990.

          To be continued…

Here’s a selection of early photographs that were taken within my first year in Wolfeboro and that were in my gallery. They can give only a semblance of the region’s beauty.

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 The Old Wolfeboro Railroad Station

 Main Street, Wolfeboro

1989

 Rust Pond at Sunrise

Sunset on Lake Winnipesaukee

from Copple Crown Mountain

I climbed up onto an abandoned ski-lift pulley to get this view.

 Sunset on Lake Winnipesaukee

from Clarke Point, Wolfeboro

 Pool of Mallards

Water spots open through the winter in Wolfeboro host a few hundred Mallard ducks.

 Essence of Mallard

This Mallard is sitting on ¼ inch of ice at the Wolfeboro dock.

 Chichester Field

Chichester, New Hampshire, is a small town 30 miles south of Wolfeboro. Like much of rural New Hampshire, Chichester has lovely farmlands. Pastoral scenes such as this have permanently bonded me to New England.

 Lady’s Slippers

Found on Mount Major in Alton

 Mount Chocorua

Mount Chocorua shows up small in a frame of tree-trunks and limbs on the shore of Lake Chocorua. This mountain is considered the most photogenic in New Hampshire.

 Wolfeboro Dockside

With the Mount Washington

cruise ship docked.

 Wolfeboro Bay Yachts

at Sunrise

The aqua-green hue in this photo was created by a polarizer filter.

 Wolfeboro Bay at Sunset

The magenta hue is genuine. The sun had just set behind me and cast a pinkish tint into the sky. The town lights had just come on. The water wasn’t frozen, yet was perfectly calm without a ripple. The snowfall was pre-winter. I returned to this spot many times but never again saw conditions that resembled these.

The February and March sunrises on this pond with Copple Crown Mountain in the background are worth getting up for, despite the cold. The sky colors are reflected by ice.

Black & White Photography

Today I begin featuring my black-and-white photography. The images were not taken with a digital camera in color and then converted to B&W with the push of a button. They were not touched up on a computer. These photographs were made with a cellulose film camera and printed in a chemical darkroom I built in 1994, four years into a fifteen year effort to succeed in professional photography…an effort that failed. I had some minor artistic success, but my goal of making a living from my photography wasn’t realized. Perhaps someday I’ll explain why I think I failed. I should. There are life-lessons to be learned from the affair. My decision to stop making “artistic” images was based in both emotion and logic.

This first set of images is of flowers I photographed in a completely dark room. Several flashlights were aimed at specific points on the plants. The background is black velvet. An exception to these is the print of the Hibiscus, which is a straight print from a color slide onto black-and-white printing paper.

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Daffodil

Amaryllis

Lily of the Valley

Bleeding Hearts

Hibiscus

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ZONKOUT

ZONKOUT

Please! Cover the Sun!

My eyes are over-exposed.

Space is out of control, orbits wobble,

harmony gone to static.

I’m standing on the launch pad,

my scream no longer heard above the after-blast.

You play my guitar, violent flame.

My immortal pen is in my checkbook.

Quickly! Hide my treasure.

Not on the National map,

but in a secure place

where only a car can get at it

by running over my head.

Drive telephone poles through my ears

to preserve my sense of hearing,

because an incessant drool of popular incantations

offers no insurance against a dented mind.

That soft flesh will deflect off metal

and wind up cast in color on a black automobile.

Insanity will take charge early in a crisis,

disregard the penalty for committing

the political act of growth

just to gather a handful of time.

When I, the anxious one

crying on the fringe,

am swept below the ground,

neighbors will say the site

had once been a cemetery.

While sitting to ponder,

I leaned my hand on the grass.

When I raised it minutes later,

the palm was a whole new pasture

of heart and life lines.

And I dreamed that first thing in the morning,

the increasing rowdiness would focus

at the base of a mountain and travel

either to attain its aim or any other place.

Yet still, the political pamphlet, written-off and altered

by a series of Engineering Change Orders,

cracks under the pressure of Presidents,

and is thrown as a moth-wing

to the withered groundskeeper

with a nailing staff.

Had I held my breath a minute longer

I would surely have died without one word.

But the thrust of a flower split my hypnotic reverie,

and I stood up on my page and spoke.

However, while on my way to the bathroom to read,

the electricity failed, the radiator bled.

My body tripped and flew,

shattered through the dark window,

and glass-edged anarchy divided my heart and life.

But electricity now succeeds in stars.

So, passing through reflections,

re-escaping to capture again and again myself,

I brush through and whisper secrets to the World.

And these thoughts fly toward you like a rock

thrown by a joker who ducks when you turn

as it strips in the wind past your ear,

silent as a cat running along a railroad track

ahead of a train breaking its gears before the pain.

Zonkout as Mother and Father

kiss me “good night” on the forehead.

                               Dennis Fredrick Evans