sculptor Emile Birch for New Hampshire Magazine

I have a great love of photographing artists at work, if only to observe their process, which is invariably unique. So when I received an assignment to photograph Emile Birch, who is one of New Hampshire's preeminent sculptors, I was grateful for the opportunity. His public monuments and work in schools had earned him a feature in New Hampshire Magazine exactly six years prior; this time, however, the circumstances were different. Emile had begun suffering from dementia, and this article would confront that issue directly.

Editor Rick Broussard sent me an advance copy of writer Karen Jamrog's article to help me prepare. Rick, creative director Chip Allen, and I decided the photography would require two stages: first, him working in his home studio; second, a portrait at one of his public sculptures. I would coordinate with his wife, Cynthia, whom he relies upon for appointments, transportation, et al.

The studio visit was scheduled first. I traveled west early on a Saturday morning, enjoyed brief introductions and a tour, and watched as he touched up some paint on a few of his new wooden pieces. (He's now limited to small-scale productions, which fill his studio.)

Although I knew another session for the portrait would occur, when I saw Emile step into the doorway to his studio towards the end of my time there, I couldn't help but ask him to pause while I made a series of photographs. As it happens, the magazine chose this portrait as the opening photograph (rather than the location one, as initially planned).

For the location portrait, we decided to use a lesser known work of his but one on prominent display in the capitol: The Eternal Shield, which was commissioned to memorialize the state's fallen firefighters. We met there a few weeks later around dusk to make the portraits. We lingered a bit (and enjoyed a coffee in a local shop) to allow darkness to fall in hopes that the statue's installed lighting (in the "flame") would illuminate; when that didn't happen, we said our goodbyes.

Karen's article about Emile, his legacy, and his current condition are well worth reading. I'm honored and grateful to illustrate a very small part of his life and work.

Ashley & Mark, married

Ashley and Mark began and ended their wedding day at the Bedford Village Inn; in between, they were married at Saint Anselm College's Abbey Church. I know the latter especially well,  being an alumnus (like the bride and groom) of the college, having photographed there many times, and having been married there.

The fall weather was perfect for these two lovely people and their family and friends to celebrate—which they did well into the night, indoors and out. The day couldn't have been better.

in memory of Charlie Hunt

When I speak to people about my work, they are occasionally surprised when I mention that the majority of my subjects are strangers. We meet once, perhaps twice, make photographs, and are unlikely to see each other again. The act of creating portraits—which is so intimate, requiring my subjects to allow me, if not into their environment, at least to be quickly at ease before my camera—becomes a fleeting interaction of two independent lives. This is not desirable, but it is simply a reality of life. Despite the brevity of our time together, I am always grateful of their time and trust, and I consider them to be friends.

Words are not sufficient to express the sorrow that one such friend has left us. When I was assigned to photograph Charlie Hunt and his family almost six years ago, he was a very young man recovering from brain cancer. His spirit was not diminished, however, and we chatted and made photographs at his home for a couple hours. My visual memory of our session—him playing his guitar, his siblings, his parents—remains quite vivid.

As the cancer returned over the years past, his diagnosis and circumstances were no doubt a great struggle both for him and his family. Charlie died on Wednesday, December 13, 2017. I have on occasion encountered his parents, for which I grateful; but I shall always regret not seeing him again.

Requiescat in pace, Charlie.

behind the stage for Ballet Misha's "Nutcracker"

I've been photographing the stage production of Ballet Misha's Nutcracker for a few years. Last year, in addition to the performance, I wanted something different, so I asked their artistic director, Amy Fortier,  whether I could photograph what happens beyond the stage. She agreed and gave me full license to explore and visually document.

Given my other photographic duties (i.e., the performances), this work only shows the moments of backstage life before and in between shows. It ignores the hundreds of hours of planning, preparations, rehearsals, costume fittings, moving and setting props, et al.; as well as the general chaos that occurs everywhere outside those few hundred square feet of stage floor during the performances.

As in any performing art, however, the vast majority of work happens off the stage, and here is a tiny glimpse of that life.

PS: Their 2017 production is December 16 & 17.

Hannah & Jim, married

These two enjoyed a rather perfect summer wedding day. After a traditional Catholic marriage ceremony and Mass at Saint Patrick Church, we returned to Dexter's Inn for the reception and frivolity. The entire grounds were available to guests, so I could wander around freely to create photographic moments in a variety of settings and activities. 

Usually, once the formal reception begins, I remain focused on speeches, reactions, faces, dancing, et al. Imagine my surprise when, after I finished my time for the day, I found a group of guests who couldn't be confined by a tent and decided to enjoy the pool. Brilliant! A visual feast at the end of an already wonderful day.

Deciduous Brewing celebration

I'm always grateful to be hired by friends for photography work, but when the owners of Deciduous Brewing asked me to photograph their second anniversary party, well, that was something else. I've known Frank and Maryann Zagami since elementary school. They've built a wonderful business with a supportive, friendly community in a beautiful space. Of course, their beers are absolutely amazing, full-flavored brews.

They gave me complete freedom to photograph as I wished—a dream! The colors of their beers demand that a few not appear in black & white.

Ingbretson atelier: IV. abstractions

My previous post about this atelier project concerned the Ingbretson Studio as object: the artists' tools, their materials, and the space itself. This final post is related but dedicated to non-descriptive compositions; that is, the studio remains the subject matter, but the resulting photographs provide little to no visual information about it (and thus were kept from the photographic essay proper—the tragedy of page limits!). They are small sensual joys—found abstractions that demand nothing of me as creator or as viewer besides their aesthetic quality.

Ingbretson atelier: III. materials

The artists were my primary interests at the Ingbretson Studio; thus, the first and second posts about this project were limited to them and their work. However, their materials demanded their own attention as well. The space has this ubquituous, even light—a necessary but generous gift to a visual artist. Their palettes, paints, brushes, and pencils—to say nothing of the colorful objects on shelves and in stalls kept for years as potential subjects—rather than being the means to create, become the means to a composition. The space, intended to house the artists and their work, becomes itself the subject matter to a still life.

Ingbretson atelier: II. portraits of artists

In my previous post, I introduced my project about the Ingbretson Studio. Most of the students seemed to tolerate me, and some engaged me in conversation about their work or mine. I asked only these individuals to sit for a brief portrait—something I wouldn't usually do during a documentary project, but the north-facing windows and their scrims always produced remarkable light, and the artmaking always in progress compelled me to ask.

Aware of their tasks, I only made a few frames of each, always in a single setting, always in color.

Ingbretson atelier: I. artists working

A few years ago, my friend David Clayton told me about an art atelier in Manchester: The Ingbretson Studio for Drawing and Painting. I contacted Paul Ingbretson (the master and owner) about spending some time photographing there. He agreed, and I documented the life and work of his students and space.

I carried only two film rangefinders: one loaded with Tri-X (black & white) and the other with Portra 400 (color), using whichever one suited the subject matter and my photographic goal. I had only 35 & 50mm lenses and a handheld light meter. I listened: to conversations among the students, to Paul, and to the sounds of quiet making. I occasionally asked questions, discussed, and debated. Most were open to my presence and work, and I'm grateful to them for the opportunity.

The results, along with an essay, are published in the current issue of Dappled Things. My words there explain much of the studio's practices and culture; thus, I see no need to repeat or expand upon those words except by way of introduction. I will, however, be able to expand greatly on the amount of photographs published, organized thematically.

The first set, then, will show what one entering this atelier would see: students of various ages creating art in their stalls, similar to monks in their cells.

a house concert

I met The Hickory Horned Devils last year when I hosted a performance at Amoskeag Studio; since then, I've also gotten to know most of the band members. So when we were invited to a house concert (hosted by their lead singer, Jen) with other friends and family, we gladly accepted. Located on a hill in Pembroke, their property has a tremendous view and overlooks Concord (we could see the state capitol building miles away).

From the porch, the band performed three sets throughtout the evening before guests with chairs and blankets. The potluck was varied and plentiful, along with the grill and beverages. Dozens of children wandered and played in the yard. Adults strolled in the field past the stone wall. We visited with friends we didn't expect to see there. The band finished at dusk, and we lingered for a couple hours more while our children eeked out as much time in a new house with new friends as they could.

I didn't have a plan for photographing. I relaxed and ate (and drank) first while listening to the music and waiting for the light to improve. The resulting work is an eclectic collection of the day: friends lounging, musicians performing, corn and grass growing, suns setting. They do not convey the high spiritedness of the music, the sounds of conversation and laughter, the smells and tastes of the food, the serenity of a location felt in the midst of dozens of other people. They are moments, scenes worked over (with many failed attempts), and an opportunity to create something different and new.

Fulchino Vineyard for The Farmers Dinner

This dinner was the second for The Farmers Dinner at Fulchino Vineyard (the first being a few years ago), so I knew the chefs would be preparing the courses outdoors. But I (and the chefs, and the owners) were surprised how quickly the darkness came; work lights had to be purchased so the work could finish.

Along with the temperature dropping quickly, the situation was certainly a new one for me. The resulting photographs, made in between courses (I also photographed each dish), were full of contrast and deep shadows.

Megan & Rob, married

Megan and her girls got ready at her soon-to-be-husband Rob's family's centuries-old farmhouse, which offered a tremendous variety of new and unique rooms and backgrounds (a boon for documentary wedding photographers!). She and Rob had a traditional Latin Rite Catholic wedding Mass at Saint John the Evangelist Church with beautiful choral music. (I'm admittedly partial to the latter, having known and sung with the music director for years.)

For the reception, we returned to Rob's family property for a relaxed and informal evening. Family and friends were scattered throughout: from the wide, green lawns to the barn, tucked behind buildings and under ancient trees. Children of all ages wandered the property. Beer flowed freely, cigarette smoke filled the air, and the barbeque portions were generous. Smiles and laughter abounded.

As a photographer, I couldn't ask for much more. Congratulations to the newlyweds.

Élevage de Volailles for The Farmers Dinner

My latest work for The Farmers Dinner brought me to Élevage de Volailles, a small, family-run farm in Loudon Centre, New Hampshire. The event was held entirely outdoors: making the firepits, preparing the food, plating the dishes, and serving the guests. The process, of course, took days, and cooking and smoking the meat over open pits started early that morning. The summer sun was out in full force, with barely any clouds in the sky, so in addition to preparation, the chefs were battling smoke, heat exhaustion, sunstroke, and dehydration—for nearly 12 hours.

Photographing in harsh, late-day sun has its own challenges, but I fully embraced the high-contrast light and deep shadows. I had no doubts that the results would exist only as black-and-white. Seeing the chefs work in these circumstances, tasting (most of) what they served, and hearing the reactions of and appreciation by the guests gave me a further appreciation of the chefs' commitment to their work.

Harmonium Music Festival

I've photographed Harmonium for a couple years. It's a full day of music and fun; of course, I'm working throughout it. The main and community stages themselves are enough to keep me busy; despite this, last year was the first that I decided to work the edges a bit.  Lingering in the musicians' tent, watching load-in and preparations, wandering around the audience--any activity apart from the stage was what I was interested in.

I also decided to camp overnight, which meant I was present for the post-festival jam session. Listening to these musicians--only some of whom knew each other, musically or otherwise--was a real joy. They seemed to have endless amounts of energy.

Tim Roemer, engineer

Parable Magazine assigned me to make a portrait of Tim Roemer, a young engineer who holds multiple degrees from University of New Hampshire. We wanted to create the photographs in the UNH engineering lab, so he and I met there, and he gave me a tour of the facilities, including the machine he built for his graduate degree. (The device tests and measures the rate at which metal stretches over tension—I think.)

Tim was a great host and subject. We were able to go anywhere we wished, thanks to his good relationships with the administrators. A real joy of these assignments is seeing a world hidden from everyday view—and then showing them to my audience. I could have made his portrait anywhere, but by using a location that was his academic home for 6 years, the photograph becomes a small part of the accompanying written narrative, allowing the reader to see a view of an engineering lab. Such an environment is also more visually interesting, of course.

David Clayton, artist

I met David many years ago. We were introduced at a reception--and then again a few weeks later. Our social, academic, and artistic circles overlapped, and we became friends. He's a trained iconographer, and his most famous venture is a series (and blog and book) called The Way of Beauty.

These photographs were made in his (now former) studio and the chapel at Thomas More College, where he was artist-in-residence, in 2012.  We spent a good portion of an afternoon discussing his work, students, philosophy, and more. He's always working on multiple fronts as an artist (visually & musically), author, and educator, so conversations with him are always varied and engaging.

He now has a new project and lives on the other side of the continent, from where he taunts us New Englanders with photos of tremendous views while hiking (among other things).

Openings 2016, an artist residency - part III: photographic impressions

In my two previous posts, I discussed my week at the Openings Collective artist residency, where, among my breaks editing a documentary project, I photographed my fellow artists working and as portrait subjects. I have little more to add to those words (ignoring my primary reason for attending—a project that remains to be finished and will someday receive its own account), except that I had my camera with me at all times. Most of that was habit, but I never knew where I’d find a fellow resident working, so being prepared was essential.

While wandering and visiting, I’d occasionally find a photograph presenting itself. With no human subject, I consider these environmental still lifes as patient subjects. Given all of the other activities occurring throughout the week, I didn’t make much time for this one, and most were discovered by accident. The main guest house—being quite old and large, with unoccupied rooms and even floors—proved most fruitful.

Openings 2016, an artist residency - part II: the artists

In the first part, I wrote about the Openings artist residency on Lake George that I attended last summer. My primary goal for the week was to edit a long-term personal documentary project; making photographs was somewhat incidental (albeit quite necessary) to my stay.

I had known from the beginning that I wanted to create portraits during the week. A number of factors made this desire challenging, however.

First, besides common meals and an evening group discussion, each of us (18, I think) there was entirely self-directed regarding our schedules. Scattered throughout the campus grounds, everyone worked independently. Besides our own artistic work and goals, the area (both the grounds of St Mary’s on the Lake and the surrounding Lake George region) provided many opportunities for recreation: hiking, boating, swimming, and more. Finding someone—let alone at a point in which they were open to a brief sitting—would prove difficult.

Second, while most of the artists knew one another from previous Openings residencies or exhibitions, I came as a stranger. Of course, I’m often commissioned to photograph subjects I’ve just met; but in that case, the goal is mutually known. Here, I had developed friendships over a week via discussions, critiques, shared meals, daily liturgy, walks, and simply living in close proximity; to then ask them to be subjects… It wouldn’t seem to be difficult, and I should be far more comfortable than am I, but I’ve always lacked the boldness to simply do so.

Residents presented their week’s work on Thursday evening, which left Friday for a little work, cleaning, packing, farewells, and departures. The impending deadline—it was now or never to make the portraits—provided sufficient incentive to steel my courage. Similar to my approach in photographing the artists working, I didn’t need to photograph everyone: some weren’t interested, others left early, et al. I divided my day among finishing tasks, visiting, and being on a bit of a hunt. Of those who agreed, some were eager, and others had to be persuaded

The only artistic limit I placed upon myself was finding a different environment for each subject. Given the variety of locales on the campus, this was relatively simple. (Indeed, creating a series of portraits with such variety was a great pleasure.) In many cases, I simply photographed each wherever I found him or her.