Roots

My photography roots stem from black-and-white photography.

Back in the mid-1970s, Tri-X film was where it was at. It was affordable for someone fresh out of high school, and I could easily process it in my basement darkroom. That darkroom existed because my father built it for me. Looking back, I realize how fortunate I was to have a dad who supported every interest that came along, including one that involved converting part of the basement into a room filled with chemicals, trays, and photographic equipment.

I spent countless hours down there. There was something magical about watching an image slowly appear on a blank sheet of paper under the glow of a safelight. It was photography in its most hands-on form, and it left a lasting impression on me.

These days, all of my photography is digital and most of it is in color. Living in the Southwest will do that to a person.

Cedar Breaks National Monument is famous for its red rock landscape - a miniature version of Bryce Canyon in many ways. The colorful amphitheater is the star of the show, and for good reason. At over 10,000 feet in elevation, the skies are often a deep blue that seems almost exaggerated. With nearly two miles of atmosphere below you and much less above you, the light has a different quality up there.

A lesser-known feature of Cedar Breaks is its groves of Bristlecone Pines.

While not quite as old as some of the famous groves in California, the twisted and gnarled trees at Cedar Breaks are still remarkably ancient. Some are nearly 1,700 years old. They first took root during the late Roman Empire and have been hanging onto this mountain ever since.

Rhonda and I were near Spectra Point when I made this photograph. The air was thin, the sun was intense, and the scent of pine lingered on the breeze. For a little while we had the area entirely to ourselves.

One particular tree immediately caught my attention.

Photographers sometimes talk about subjects calling out to them, and this one did exactly that. Its location was perfect, perched above the canyon rim, but it was the shape that really grabbed me. Centuries of wind, snow, lightning, and survival had sculpted it into something that looked less like a tree and more like a work of art.

The silver-gray branches of the bristlecone pines almost seem designed for black-and-white photography. Cedar Breaks is usually a place where color dominates every composition, but the bristlecones are an exception. Their story is told through texture, shape, and character. So instead of emphasizing the reds of the cliffs or the deep blue of the sky, I pointed my camera toward the sun and let the ancient tree become the subject.

As I stood there looking up through those weathered branches, I couldn't help but think about roots. The roots of a bristlecone pine that began growing while the Roman Empire still existed. The roots of my own photography journey that started decades ago in a basement darkroom built by my father. And the roots that connect all of us to places and experiences that stay with us long after the moment has passed. 

This photograph is one of my favorites because it captures all of those things at once. It is a reminder that some roots run deeper than we realize.