A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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Entries in Artists (32)

Wednesday
Oct122011

Barrow novelist Debby Dahl Edwardson is named as a finalist for the National Book Award - her husband George

I am proud to join in the praise for my friend of nearly 30 years, Barrow novelist Debby Dahl Edwardson, who has just been named as a finalist for the National Book Award for Young People's Literature.

"Wait a minute!" the indignant reader suddenly shouts in protest. "If Debby is the finalist, then she should be the center of attention! Why is she looking at her husband? Why is he the one doing the talking, not her? This is all wrong!"

No, it is not wrong. It is right. Debby is the first to tell you - she is the writer in the family, but husband George Edwardson is a master story-teller and a continual source of inspiration and raw material for the words that she writes.

When their children were small, Debby would read stories to them. George would tell them stories - wonderful stories, Debby says, stories that never repeated themselves but always went somewhere new - stories based on the life that George knew as an Iñupiaq hunter and scholar in the traditional sense.

She always knew that if told they could hear one but not the other, her children would choose the stories George told from his mind and soul over the ones she read.

Over the years, she heard him tell many stories about his days as a student at the Copper Valley School, the now-closed Native boarding school in Glennallen run by the Catholic Church.

Some of the stories were funny. Some of the stories were inspirational. Some sad - many were downright hard and even tragic. Most were a combination of all these things and more.

Then, about a decade ago, Debby accompanied George to a reunion of the Copper Valley alumni. There, she was deeply moved by the familial connections and shared experiences that bound the students together.

She saw it as a story that needed to be told. George agreed. Debby then crafted a screen play and submitted it to the Sundance Institute. She received a hand-written rejection informing her that it had ranked high, but not quite high enough. In 2003, she began reworking it into her Master's Thesis.

And now it is her third book, My Name is Not Easy, behind Whale Snow and Blessings Bead, and a finalist for the National Book Award. Debby stresses that it is not a book about Copper Valley School per se - it is a work of fiction, inspired by the stories of her husband but relevant to the boarding school experience experienced by so many Alaska Native students.

She also stresses that it is not a book about victimization. Like the real-life graduates of boarding schools, her students did experience many hardships and wrongs, but they also formed bonds, learned about the western world and many went on to work together to advance Native rights.

The book was published by Marshall Cavendish and edited by Melanie Kroupa, who long ago saw talent in Debby and, like an editor of old times, stuck with her and nourished her through five years of rewriting and reworking until the book was just right.

When she was about three, Debby would often stand in her father's den and gaze at the many books that filled his shelves. She could not yet read or write, but she understood that there was power and stories between the covers of these inanimate objects. She knew she wanted to be part of those books - as both reader and creator.

When she was in the third grade, her teacher gave her an assignment to make a diary about a family camping trip. She wrote about what it felt like to sit in the front of the boat as it made its own waves while pushing its way through the lake.

After she handed in her paper, she noticed her teacher show her story to another teacher. She could see that her teacher was boasting about her. She knew then that she had the ability to make the power of words her own and with that power could move other people.

Conversely, in high school, she asked her English teacher if she believed she could be a writer. "No," the teacher responded.

"That's the one you want to invite to the awards," George interjects sardonically.

In college, an instructor convinced her that she could write articles for publications.

By the mid-70's, she found herself living in Barrow, where she attended a public hearing on a an environmental impact statement dealing with offshore oil development.

There, a young man stood up and took apart the environmental impact statement piece-by-piece. "When he was done, he had totally destroyed that environmental impact statement," Debby remembers. She wrote the event up and it became her first article published in the mainstream press: We Alaskans, the then Sunday magazine of the Anchorage Daily News.

That young man was George Edwardson, who continues that fight to this day. The two had no idea that they would one day wed and make a family together.

Next, she went to work for KBRW, the Barrow public radio station, reporting, writing, and reading news articles.

One day, Jean Craighead George, the famed Children's author and mother of Craig George, renowned bowhead biologist, came to Barrow and agreed to an interview. Afterward, Debby told George that she had always wanted to write stories for young people.

"She looked at me and said, 'well, do it."

Struck by the simplicity of the answer, Debby did, indeed, do it.

As for George, he says that "of course" he is proud of his wife. "I have always been." He adds that he was not surprised when she was named a finalist, because he has known for decades that such honors would come to his wife. Even Debby's mother, who did the painting on the wall behind him, had always known, George, who puts great stock in the knowledge of mothers, added.

Debby is retired from Ilisagvik College, but still serves as an adjunct professor. She was also just reelected to the board of the North Slope Borough School District. As part of her campaign, she ran an ad on the Eskimo channel that stated that education is the passing of the soul of a culture from one generation to the next.

"That's what your writing is, too," George told her.

The announcemnt of the winner of the National Book Award will be made at a fancy dinner next month in New York City. Naturally, George has been invited to attend alongside his wife. He has consented to go to New York, but not to the dinner. "It's black tie," he explains. "They're not going to put a tie on me!"

Last night, when I visited them, George was busy making ulu knives - some very large, some very small. He will convert a pair of tiny ulus into a set of ear rings for his wife to wear to the dinner where the announcement will be made.

Believe me, I stand by George on the whole black tie thing. I understand perfectly. Even so, I hope that when Debby enters the fancy place that George walks in alongside her, dressed in his classiest Iñupiaq clothing. If so, no man there will be more elegantly dressed than will be George Edwardson of Barrow, Alaska.

Well, there's lots more I could write about my friends, Debby and George Edwardson, but I've got to get up early to catch a plane to Atqasuk. And anyway, in no time at all, there's going to be lots of writers, even from outfits like the New York Times, writing about Debby and George and they will surely cover all the gound that I have skipped over or just didn't think to write about.

 

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Sunday
Oct022011

Not right now

 

I just realized something. As eager as I am to do so, I cannot tell my David Alan Harvey Loft story right now. I know there are many fans of David and Burn who have been waiting to see what I might post and will be disappointed, maybe even let down.

I have thought it out from beginning to end. I have composed words in my head. But the circumstance is just not right for me to tell it right now. It will just have to wait for another time.

It was a great experience, with many highs and lows. It began excellently, then I careened through one calamity after another, headed for what looked like disaster, but, at the very last moment, it all came together. The finish was excellent for me and I believe for all those who I shared the experience with.

Thank you, David Alan Harvey. Thank you, Michelle, Thank you, Michael and thank you, my fellow dozen students.

Pictured are two of my fellow Loft workshop students, Mark Bennington, who, if things work out right, I might get together with in Mumbai in the not-distant future, and Isabela Eseverri from Caracas, Venezuela.

I doubt that I will post at all tomorrow. Too much to do in too short a time. It would be nice if I could get some real sleep.

I wonder what that would feel like?

 

Thursday
Jun302011

Mended computer; Shoshana study; the vandalized fence; young music producer Alan Drumsbarger

I back up to the day before yesterday:

The stress of the combination of being both without a working computer and the necessary capital to pay bills took its toll, so much so that once I found myself with a good working computer and funds enough in the bank to carry us for some time, I suddenly felt drained. All energy left me.

At 4:00 PM, Margie drove into ?downtown? Wasilla to shop for groceries and pay bills. I had her drop me off at Metro Cafe, so I could walk home. I would have ridden my bike, but I did not feel that I had the energy to pedal it.

That put me on the inside of Metro. There, I saw Greg pull up to the window. I often see Greg through that window, but usually I am in the car and looking at him on the inside on the other side of the counter. Somehow, Greg and I often wind up at Metro at the same time and he has appeared in a number of studies. Today, it was reversed - I on the inside and he out, looking in. Hence, the above study:

Study of the young writer, Shoshana, #6921: just after she handed a Rockstar power drink to Greg, he on the outside looking in, me on the inside looking out, and accepted his payment.

I had to pay Shoshana for my coffee and pastry of the previous day as well, because on that day I had not been able to scrape together even enough loose change but they knew I was good for it and so carried me for a day. Now I am flush and the summer ahead looks good.

Such can be the life of a freelance photographer/writer. You gotta love it to do it, and if you don't love it, you can't do it. To live this way, it must be the only way your soul will allow you to live.

I walked on the bike trail towards home. I had not gone far before I came upon this fence, newly bashed in several places. Alas, folks, this kind of thing is part of Wasilla, too. It really is. Most folks here are decent, I believe, but there is an element who simply have no respect for anybody or anything but would sure whine mightily were the situation reversed even slightly.

Somebody spends money, works hard, takes pride, and then someone who understands nothing of life comes along and does this.

Probably a kid or a couple of kids, and since we were all kids once, we must forgive kids of many things, but in a case like this, forgiveness should come only after a significant price is paid - including full restoration of the fence.

I walked a little further down the bike trail, then turned around to get a comprehensive view of the damage. I saw a stranger coming along.

It turned out to be Alan Drumsbarger, who is not a stranger any more. "Nice camera," he said, when he caught up to me about two blocks down. We then walked and chatted together for a few more blocks. Alan was born and raised in Wasilla and now runs a little music recording business, 49 State Records, along with relatives and friends. He has a studio in his basement.

He is also a guitarist and base player, and stands in with many bands.

As we walked and talked, he told me all about his studio, and the hard and soft ware that he uses to record and produce music. He told me many things, more than I can take the time to write here. When I asked him if the business was profitable, he laughed. It's an art, you know, and artists are driven by other forces first and profit second, or maybe third or fourth or fifth or maybe they don't even give a damn about profit, but it is just one of those evil necessities that must be figured out, just to allow them to survive and keep making their art.

He did not say it that way, but I know for a first-hand fact that is how it is with some artists.

You will notice that I once again have four photos, whereas I had set a time-saving limit of three.

Well, with this computer now running hot and fast, trust me, I prepared these four photos MUCH faster than I would have prepared three, before Bruce pointed me toward this fix.

Now, if only I could do something about the many time-wasting inefficiencies built into Squarespace, my bloghost, I could add even more images in the same time.

 

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Thursday
Jun232011

No car, computer going down at worst time - but that kid George has talent!

I am now in my third day without a car. Once again, Margie has gone off to town to help take care of Kalib and Jobe, this time because Jobe fell a little under the weather for awhile and Jake's job took him out of town. I am a person who likes to drive, but, whenever Margie has gone to town for a few days I have not really been bothered by the lack of a car.

I have my bicycle, and this time of year I bike every day, anyway.

So I just get on the bike and go.

When I get to Metro Cafe, that means I go inside instead of through the drive through. I suppose I could go through the drive-through and then drink my coffee as I pedal my bike, but I don't want to.

So I go inside. And once there I shoot serious, brilliant, studies like this one:

Looking out the Metro window from the inside, Study #3671: Claudia pays for her coffee with a credit card.

Within 8 minutes of posting this, I expect to receive a call from MOMA in New York, offering me $42 million if I will just let them hang a print of this in their hallway for three days. That ought to take care of a few problems I face, and allow me to blog full time and make my new electronic magazine.

Branson always wants to ride my bike, but he is too small for it. Today, Carmen told him to stay off it because he might scratch it. "This bike is already scratched up," he answered.

It's true, too.

Yet, today, I absolutely needed a motor vehicle. I had to take this computer to the shop and see if I could get it fixed. I have been working on layout and writing tasks lately, but now I must switch gears and get into photo processing for CMYK offset reproduction.

My computer has lost all its power and speed. When I am working in Lightroom and in Photoshop, It grinds to a near halt and the Mac color ball spins and spins and I just about go crazy waiting for it. And I will be working with large, high-resolution files - 100 mb each.

This morning, after drinking coffee and working through the night, I went to bed at 6:40 AM, then got up at 9:53, borrowed Caleb's truck and hauled my big, heavy, Mac Pro over to Machaus.

Then, after my afternoon coffee at Metro, I pedaled my bike back home, exchanged it for Caleb's truck once again and headed back toward Machaus.

I had to be there before six and I thought it would be no problem, but then I came upon this cop in the road, directing traffic because the stoplight was out. Maybe that lineman in the background above is trying to fix the problem.

The cop was not nearly so efficient as the light is, when it works, and after five minutes, I was still sitting there. He had sent the oncoming left-turn traffic through twice and everybody else at least once, without even letting us move. So I was worried that I would not get to Machaus until after 6:00, but I got there at 5:55, so it was okay.

Bruce at Machaus did find one thing that he fixed and it helped, but he did not charge because he had a feeling the overall problem was not yet fixed.

He was right. This computer is still dragging like crazy, especially when it comes to Lightroom and Photoshop. And I have over 300 images to prepare for offset. And if this computer malfunction costs me an average of 10 or fifteen minutes wasted time for each image - which, in fact, it is doing and sometimes more... well... make that times more than 300 and you see the problem that I am up against.

I do not know how I am going to deal with it.

It is time for a new computer, I think, but I don't have the money at the moment and even if I can find it soon, which I believe I can, rumor has it that Mac is about to release a brand new, top of the line, powerhouse computer with the pending Lion operating system and it would be stupid to buy a new computer just before that one comes out.

What do I do?

What can I do?

Nothing but slog through it, I think.

Day and night. Slog through it until its done.

All the time, wondering why I have to get stuck inside during the time of long light?

This is George Rasputkov, the aspiring young photographer, and I first met him when he was a boy and I would be out walking our now deceased dog, Willow. George was one of a group of children whose parents were immigrants from the countries of the former Soviet Block and they all loved Willow.

"Willow!" they would shout when they saw us coming. Then they would come and pet Willow and wrap their arms around her and she loved it.

She was an attention hound, that dog.

Tonight I met him again as I was out pedaling my bike home from the Little Susitna River.

Now he is grown and he loves photography and wants to become professional.

He showed me a few of his pictures  on his LCD and his iPhone and he is good. He has the talent. I complimented him on what I saw. "I give the credit to God," he told me. He said he is Christian. I do not yet know the history that brought his family and so many others here from the old Soviet Block, but I think that has a lot to do with it.

Now we are Facebook friends, so, when I get the chance, which won't be until I get this project out of the way, I will give his work a good study. Surely, I will look at it right away, but study will have to come later.

Yet, generally speaking, it really only takes me a glance to determine whether or not I like a photograph. My first glance at George's work proved pretty positive.

 

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Tuesday
Jun142011

Steve Oomittuk of Tikigaq - a seeker of the history and knowledge of this people; Reggie and Sam the cat

This is my friend Steve Oomittuk with the dance mask that he wore in a performance at the 2009 Kivgiq in Barrow. There are stories in the mask, including the five whales a new captain must land before he gains full status as a true captain. Most observers can probably identify the tail of the whale in the mask, but probably few other than the people of the whale could identify the bowhead head and mouth as depicted in the chin.

Steve envisioned how he wanted the mask to look, sketched it out and then gave the sketch to his brother, master sculpture Othneil Oomittuk, better known as "Art," who then carved it for him.

Point Hope is one of the oldest if not the oldest continually occupied community on the continent. After summer and fall storms, Steve will often walk the beaches along the ancient site of Ipiutak and other nearby places that predate US history and will gather up artifacts that the storm has unearthed from the eroding beach.

These are a few of items that he has found.

A fossilized ivory artifact the age of which must be at least a couple of thousand years, judging from where he found it. Steve also spends much time reading the books and works of the archeaologists and anthropologists who have studied his home, both those who came shortly after contact and those who have come in his time.

When he was young, he listened to the stories of the Elders and still seeks to learn all that he can, from whomever and whatever source he can.

It troubles him to think of his culture ever being lost - not just that of the Arctic Slope Iñupiat as a whole, but of Point Hope in particular - Tikigaq being a unique and special place, even in Alaska.

A fossilized ivory artifact that appears to be an arrow point.

Steve makes many sketches of his life and sometimes his grandchildren get hold of them and add their own touch.

Steve and his granddaughter give me a ride on his four-wheeler.

I do not find a cat in every village that I visit, but I am always glad when I do. This is Sam the cat, with Reggie Oviok. Sam migrated from California upon the back of goose, but is a Tikigaq cat now.

I might have made that part about the goose up.

 

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