Charlie: Two studies; bubbles in the Indian wind

Those who visited this blog yesterday know that I posted only the first image that I shot from a day that was spent with Kalib, Jobe, Lisa, Melanie, Charlie, Caleb and Margie. Since then, I have been debating with myself as to whether or not I should go ahead and post a series of photos from that day or just move on to other topics - as I do have many items backing up, including Junipurr's scary fight for life and a Metro Cafe event where I found myself warmly engulfed by a horde of beautiful women.

I decided to post and I have now spent at least an hour-and-a-half preparing the photos for that post, but I can't afford to spend anymore time at it.

So, I will save it all for tomorrow, except for these two academic studies of Charlie:

Charlie Study, #3982: Charlie sitting on a chair, caught by window light

Charlie Study, #67692: Charlie, caught by headlights, as he prepares to drive from Wasilla to Anchorage

But I must also include one from India:

After we passed the elephants, Anil and Melanie made bubbles in the wind.

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Knocked down by bugs in the throat and computer

This is the very first frame that I shot yesterday. Five-hundred and sixty-three more would follow before the day ended, but so far this is the only one that I have pulled up and looked it, because last night and today has been such a mess that I decided just to grab the first picture that I shot, post it and be done with it.

The mess last night happened because a bug of some kind got into my throat and kept me coughing violently all through the night. I did not get to sleep until it was time to get up and then I did not get up.

Then, this program, Lightroom, that I like to use to edit pictures, even though it can be very buggy and exasperating itself, misfired and set off a chain reaction of computer calamities that have taken me two hours to resolve.

Anyway, this was how we began yesterday, at Family Restaurant, where Charlie took us all to breakfast.

I have lost too much time. I am exasperated. This is all that I am going to blog today.

Well, one more, grabbed at random, from India...

...just to leave no doubt...

Two boys at Badami.

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Clark James Mishler posted a daily portrait each day in 2010; Ranju - three studies

Earlier in the day, before I drove to the Anchorage Museum of History and Fine Art to see a 165 image slideshow edited down from Clark James Mishler's "2010 Portrait 365," I took my usual walk - now part of my preparation to get fit for this summer's upcoming Brooks Range hike.

As I walked, this raven flew overhead.

Come evening, I did not want to drive to Anchorage. I just wanted to stay home and edit pictures. I am so far behind on editing pictures, I don't know what to do. I could spend all day, every day, for the next couple of months editing pictures and I would still be far behind.

But I wanted to see Clark's pictures and to give his project a plug in this blog. As for Clark himself, he needs no plug. I doubt that there is a better known or more successful photographer working in Alaska than Clark James Mishler. In fact, I think I can say almost without a doubt that he is the most successful editorial and commercial photographer in the state. He is a hard-working, intelligent, superb shooter and a good business man. He has earned every bit of his success.

Clark, btw, is the fellow that the sharper focus is on. But don't let the fact that Bob Hallinen of the Anchorage Daily News is in the blur mislead you into thinking that he is less of a photographer than anyone. He isn't. 100 years from now, when someone figures out what photojournalist created the most powerful and important body of photojournalistic Alaska work from our time period, I predict that Bob's name will top the list.

He'll be dead and it won't do him any good, but people of the time will study, ponder, and be amazed.

And Bob loves ravens.

It's just that this night the focus was on Clark's "2010 Portrait 365" Project, so I put the focus on Clark. One day, when the opportunity presents itself, I will put the focus of this blog on Bob.

From my own experience as I stuggle to make a post on this blog every day, I can tell you what Clark did was absolutely amazing. Each day in 2010, no matter what he was working on or what he was doing, Clark shot at least one portrait and every day posted a new portrait on his blog.

He did not miss even one day - and he is carrying the effort over into this year.

There were times when the day was drawing to a close and Clark had nothing, but he would always make the effort, if neccessary, to go out and find someone, stop them, get the picture, or shoot an assitant, or perhaps even himself.

At least one day came to an end when the only portrait that he had was of a dog. He wondered if it was right to include a dog in the project, but decided it was.

Of course it was right! Never mind that the dog's tongue was a bit gross and slobbery - it was an excellent image and that dog deserved to be in the project - and that dog would not be the only one to be portraited in this project.

A cat would have been good, too.

Hey! That gives me an idea of project for my own! 

2012 Cat Portrait 365 project!

It is already too late to take on such a project for 2011. The problem is, sometimes I will go into a village and there will not be a single cat living there (yes, I always ask). I will want to spend some of my time in 2012 in villages. I can't discriminate against a village just because no cat lives there.

Speaking of which, I did not succeed in posting an image in all 365 days of 2010. I think I would have, but I got into places that the logistics made it difficult or even impossible to post.

Even under the best of circumstances, it is a huge challenge to post an image every day - especially when you it must be one specific type of image, in this case a portrait - but Clark did it.

Even more challenging is to post a good portrait every day. Clark did this, too - and many, many, many of the images are simply excellent. The breadth and depth that he has captured is phenomenal. 

After he showed us the 165 selections from his 2010 project, Clark put on a quick demonstration of how he often uses a very small, compact, portable lighting system that he can carry just about anywhere.

Clark likes to play light against dark and that is what he did here, on the spot, with his simple lighting system.

While our fundamental subject is the same - Alaska and the people in it - Clark and I approach our work with philosophies that are in many ways the exact opposite of each other.

Clark is a sharp-shooter, and I am a quick-draw artist. I can sharp-shoot, and Clark can quick draw - as his photo of Joe Miller taking his one glance of the debate at which he otherwise refused to even look at Senator Murkowski so deftly proves. But basically, he shoots sharp and I quick draw.

Clark shoots with strobe and artificial light not only in his studio and at night but in broad, bright, daylight. In this way, he effectively creates a style that subdues the background and puts the emphasize sharply upon his subject. His colors are rich and vibrant, his contrast strong. He looks at a scene with an eye to making it look better and more visually interesting than it might appear to be at first glance.

While I have made a few exceptions, it has been almost dogma to me that I work only with the light that I find, as that is the light that the life I am photographing is taking place in. When the light grows dim and dingy, then my pictures grow dim and dingy and sometimes very noisy, too, because if I cannot properly expose an image at my highest ISO rating of 6400, then I will underexpose by one or two stops and then do what I can to recover the image from out of the dark frame.

Clark's images all seem to be perfectly exposed. He must blow one now and then, but it sure doesn't look like it.

As he showed his slides, I wondered just how wise I have been to stick so closely to this philosophy all these decades. The fact is, Clark had many excellent images in his slide show that, under my basic philosophy, I simply could not have taken.

I have this little project that I have begun on Iñupiat artists. I am thinking maybe I should artificially light much of it - but I do not want to carry big studio lights around. I think I will go visit Clark and see what more I can learn about his portable lighting system.

In this self portrait with me, Clark and Bob, I am reminded of western movies that depict the time period between 1890 and 1910 - you know, the movies where the cowboy, sheriffs and gun slingers that made their reputations in the days of the wild west have passed their prime and are headed toward old age.

But they don't know it. They don't accept the idea. They keep their guns loaded and woe be to the young hotshots who live by different rules and underestimate them.

A few minutes after the post-show conversations had concluded, I found myself sitting and waiting at a red light. My mind was elsewhere. I was unaware of my surroundings. Suddenly, I realized that this grader was about to flash through the intersection, ice flying.

Oh no! I was too late! There was no way I could get the shot! But I grabbed my camera from my lap and fired anyway.

Quick draw artist.

I would have hated to have missed this moment.

It was just too damned exciting.

And these three with Ranju of India:

I will stick to the theme of portraiture for my India pictures today: Sri Ranjani "Ranju" in the arms of her aunt, Sujitha Ravichandran, at the Bangalore wedding of Soundarya and Anil.

Ranju gets a better view of the world, thanks to Manoj Biradar, Suji's man.

Also in the picture is Bharathi Padmanabhan, Ranju's mom, and, at the right edge my daughter Melanie, who looked so beautiful in her Indian saree and, just barely, Brindha Padmanabhan. 

There is an event scheduled to happen between Manoj and Sujitha on February 28. I want to be there. Right now, it looks pretty impossible, but I am not ready to give up the hope just yet.

Bharathi and daughter Ranju.

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I begin Christmas by taking a shower with a spider; we give gifts, eat, celebrate and the littlest among us falls ill

Late on Christmas morning, before the influx of family began to arrive, I took a shower. After I stepped out, I found this spider standing still on the shower curtain. I do not like to have spiders in the house, nor do I like to kill them. When I find a spider in the house between breakup and freezeup, I catch it and take it outside.

It seems cruel to do this in the winter, so in the winter, I apologize to whatever spider I find. "I am sorry, spider," I say. "I do not wish to harm you, but I just can't allow spiders to overwhelm my house." Then I will kill it.

When I looked at this spider, one word came into my mind: "Chooo'weet!" 

I could not kill it. It just simply was not in me to do. I dried myself with a towel, got dressed, left the spider in peace right where you see it and went out to greet family members as they arrived.

Jobe arrived with his mom brandishing a copy of the Anchorage Daily News. Whose picture do you think was in it...? Look close... heck, you don't even have to look that close... it's Jobe! Second from left on top, a crop from the Christmas card picture that I ran with yesterday's post.

Soon, Jobe took a seat on the floor. He looks good and happy as usual, but he had thrown up just a little bit earlier and he was not eating anything at the moment. None of us were too concerned. Babies throw up all the time.

You will note Kalib and Ama in the background. It is true that Rex is the one who discovered Ama and brought her into our lives, but I have to tell you, it was Kalib and Ama who were falling in love with each other on Christmas Day.

Jobe tried his hand at petting Jim. He was doing okay, but then he grabbed a big hank of fur and yanked. Jim turned around and meowed in protest.

Jobe was left with a clump of black fur in his paw.

When it came time for me to pass out the gifts, Jacob put a Santa hat on my head. Jobe came over and posed with Santa for this self-portrait.

Who would receive the first gift? I reached into the pile of gifts and grabbed one at random. It was addressed to Charlie, from Santa Paws. Which means it came from Muzzy and his family.

Charlie tore into the packaging to unwrap his gift.

It was a Betty Boop doll.

Well, actually, it was a grain mill. But if you squint until your eyes are almost closed and then look hazily at the box, those little pictures kind of look like Betty Boop.

Among the huge cache of gifts that cascaded down upon Kalib was this alligator, a triceratops, and a shark.

One gift was addressed to Diamond, Bear Meach and Poof, the cats who hang out with Melanie and Charlie. The cats had stayed home, so Melanie opened.

Somehow, I don't think those cats are going to wipe their paws.

As for me, I would rather wipe my muddy boots on the living room rug than to dirty this matt.

Margie held up a print of Jobe that I made for her.

"Joooooe - be!" Kalib said.

You will notice that Caleb is staying low key in the background, holding his throat. On Tuesday, he bought himself something to eat at Taco Bell and a crunchy taco shell scratched his throat on the way down. His throat grew sore and just kept getting worse and worse.

So he stayed low key, all day.

He didn't even play with Kalib.

Margie called me into the kitchen to tell me it was time to for me to carve the turkey, which she had just removed from the oven - with a little help from Lavina and Melanie.

Ama had been no help at all. As you can see, she had over-imbibed and had passed out on the dinning room table.

How could this have happened? This was an alcohol-free gathering.

It was Kalib that she had over-imbibed on. Kalib, and all his rambunctious energy.

So she passed out. Her head hit the table with a "thunk!"

I might exaggerate just a little bit.

As for me, I picked up the carving knife. The edge was dull. So I sharpened it, until it could have sliced right through a newspaper.

Instead, it sliced through the skin on the tip of my left pointer finger..

That knife was really sharp and went straight to bone, just like that.

Then Charlie brought some squash that Jacob had cooked with with berries and pine-nuts to the table. It was time to begin feasting.

Unrepentant and irreligious though I be, I have been walking a very ethereal edge these past five weeks and it did not seem right to start Christmas dinner without a prayer and a word of thanks. I did not feel up to the task myself and so I asked Lavina, whose strong sense of spirituality is rooted in her Dene beliefs. She agreed. I asked her to be certain to remember other members of the family who are grieving, those in South India.

She did, along with many others spread widely over vast distances.

Then it was time to eat. I put my camera aside and picked up my fork and knife.

Afterward, we were all stuffed. Turkey can put you to sleep. It put Rex to sleep.

But Rex would not be allowed to sleep long, for a shark came flying at him. It was Lisa who had hurled the shark.

Knowing how much Melanie hates the very image of a spider, I called her over and showed her the picture of the spider on my camera monitor. She shrieked, and almost dropped Jobe.

"Why would you do that, Dad?" she asked.

So I told about how the spider had showered with me and how I had left it in peace.

"Why would you want to shower with a spider, anyway, Dad?" Lisa chimed in. "Don't you know that a spider has eight eyes?"

Charlie had borrowed my guitar. The spider incident inspired him and he suddenly began to sing one of his improvised, on the spot, ballads.

I wish I could quote him, but I can't.

Anyway, the ballad was about a guy who took a shower with a spider. Everything started out fine, but then the spider got a little too perverse in taking in the sights with its eight staring eyes and wound up getting washed down the drain.

It didn't have to be that way, Charlie sang. Everything would have been fine, if only that spider had kept its eyes to itself.

As for Kalib and Ama, the two just kept at it. Melanie had given Charlie a top Canon Rebel. As the two frolicked, he read the manual so that he could begin using it.

Ama, by the way, is Jewish and also vegetarian. She grew up in New York and her family did not celebrate Christmas, but, as it was a holiday and they had the day off, they would usually go to a movie and a Chinese restaurant.

Readers who were with me then will recall that right after Thanksgiving, she and Rex flew to San Francisco and then joined Ama's family at Lake Tahoe. After that, they drove into Canada and then followed the Al-Can Highway to Alaska. On their way to Anchorage, they stopped here. It was the end of Hanukkah, and so they lit the last candle of the menorah, right here. I was in Barrow at the time.

Then they flew to New England but now they are back, Ama just found an apartment and will soon start her new job teaching massage therapy.

I lay down on the couch to rest a bit. I closed my eyes, and slipped into that place half way between sleep and awake. I am not quite sure how he got there, but when I opened them again, Jobe was on my shoulder.

Jobe truly adores me and I adore him.

So I did another self-portrait. A bit later, Jobe's mom put him down for a nap in his cradleboard. A bit after that, we heard a loud, awful sounding retching noise come from the master bedroom, where Jobe had been sleeping.

He had thrown up badly. He was feverish.

So Jacob and Lavina took him to the emergency room at Mat-Su Valley Regional Hospital.

Kalib stayed with us.

They came back about three hours later. Jobe had come down with some kind of mix of bacteria and virus and had been given medicine. He would be okay, the doctor had said. His spirits were good and his smile was there. His parents decided to spend the night here.

Kalib watched as his dad stoked up the fire.

By the way - today, Sunday, December 26, is Kalib's third birthday.

Happy birthday, Kalib!

How did it happen so fast?

And why do all events just keep shooting by, faster and faster?

About midnight, Jobe began to get fussy. He cried and cried and it was hard to see and hear - this little grandson of mine, who is always so happy and good natured.

Lavina picked him up and patted and soothed and rocked him. In time, he settled down. And he slept reasonably well until 5:00 AM, when he woke up and cried again.

He seems okay now, though.

While Jimmy had hung out with us through much of the day, we had caught only flashing glimpses of Pistol-Yero and we had not seen Chicago at all.

This was because Muzzy had come to visit. Jimmy doesn't care, he does not fear the big-hearted St. Bernard, but those other two stay away from Muzzy.

Now that Christmas, 2010, was coming to its end and it was bedtime, Chicago stepped half-way into the hall to see if she could determine what was going on.

Despite Jobe's temporary illness, it was a good Christmas Day, well-below zero outside but warm in the love of family inside.

I enjoyed it, and when Melanie brought up the memory of the exploding nitro-squirrels that we used to come upon when she was little and we would go walking, I laughed loud and hard.

Even so, were I to tell you that I went through the day without my eyes ever watering I would be lying.

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We get our Christmas shopping done early; Todd - met at Carr's; Melanie gets the blessing of an elephant

We had no milk for oatmeal, so I didn't cook any. Instead, I sat down right here at my computer and started to work on pictures. Then Margie came in and wondered what we should do about Christmas shopping. "Well," I answered, "we're out of milk so we might as well go to breakfast and then see if we can get some shopping done."

She agreed. I remote started the car, let it warm up for about 15 minutes. It was still very chilly inside and the seats were like solid blocks of ice, but we climbed into the car and headed for Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant. As we neared, this raven passed over the car.

"This guy is really annoying," Margie told Connie, our waitress, as I took this picture. Connie did not agree, but she laughed politely so that Margie would think she did.

I believe that I may have ranted about this before, and I probably will again, but this is one of the great ironies of my life as a photographer. It is only in recent years - pretty much since grandkids began to enter our lives - that Margie has tolerated me taking photographs of her at all.

True, I did manage to get a few in here and there, mostly when the children were somehow involved, but fundamentally, I, who am possessed with genuine passion to photograph anything and everything, found myself with this exceptionally gorgeous and beautiful wife and everyday that we were together I would look upon her and I would want to photograph her and everyday she would refuse to be photographed.

Be assured, I still find her beautiful - sometimes so much so that it makes me ache just to look at her. She now has the beauty of an aging woman who has weathered much in life, suffered many hurts and disappointments but has created a family that loves and adores her.

Each one of us loves and adores her.

Back when we were first married, she possessed a different kind of beauty - exquisite physical beauty of the most desirous kind - her hair so deep black, long and wavy against her lovely brown skin, her eyes radiant, dancing with fun and mischief - and I, the artist, who looked upon her every day, was not allowed to document this beauty - except on rare occassions, almost always involving children.

The only exception that I can think of is this one, which I posted on Mother's Day last.

I cannot remember how I persuaded her to pose that day, but, even though she relented, if you click the link and look at the picture, you will see that she was not happy about it.

And now, as the years and decades push those days of youthful beauty ever farther back, I sometimes long to look at the photos of my beautiful, young, wife. I long to show the photos to her children, her grandchildren and say to them, "see how beautiful she was? She had a host of would be suitors and yet she chose, short, awkward, shy, socially inept, me and together we made you."

But those pictures do not exist. I cannot look at them; I cannot show them to anybody.

If all the people who I have photographed over the years would have reacted to my camera the way she did, I would have utterly failed as a photographer. I would probably be selling newspapers on the street somewhere, because there's nothing else I could have done.

Our first stop was at Meta Rose Square, home of All I Saw Cookware. Get it. "All I Saw?" "Wasilla" backwards? Was-i-lla?

We parked right next to this car. I am not quite certain why some guys feel compelled to emblazon their vehicles in this manner. To attract attention, I guess.

In my case, it didn't work. I didn't even notice. I didn't notice at all. I walked away without even giving it a sideways glance.

I am not quite sure why, but, as we walked through Meta Rose, I found myself wondering why I had to grow up Mormon; I was sort of a cowboy, once, briefly, but a Mormon sort of cowboy and it wasn't like this.

Inside the store, we came upon this piggy bank. As piggy banks always do, this one transported my mind back to Pendleton, Oregon, when I was five years old. My mom had taken me downtown to go shopping and when we came to JC Penney's, there was a red, plastic, piggy bank in the window. Or maybe it was the window of a bank. Or perhaps Woolworth's. Whatever window it was, the pig on the other side was wearing a little hat.

I wanted that piggy bank. I wanted it badly.

Mom had grown up very hard in the Depression and was against all spending that was in any way frivolous. And a piggy bank was frivolous. One could make a very fine bank from an empty Morton's salt box, or a band-aid can.

She did not understand that it was not that I wanted a bank - I wanted the little red pig with the hat on its head, but in the name of frugality I was denied this item that maybe cost 25 cents. I never did get a piggy bank. I kept my coins in Morton salt boxes and bandaid cans. And every time I would go into a store and see a piggy bank, I longed to have it.

Then, when I became a young man, a curious thing happened. I would go into a store, see a piggy bank and feel the same longing. So I would buy the piggy bank.

I bought all kinds of piggy banks. It became a waste of money. There was no place to put all these piggy banks. At the Alaska State Fair, I even found a little red plastic one, wearing a hat - made from the very same mold as the one that I had been denied in the first place.

Finally, I had to get rid of most of those piggy banks.

As for the ones I kept - I don't even know where they are now - not even the little red plastic one.

When I saw this one yesterday, I wanted to buy it - not as a gift but for me.

But I didn't. I resisted temptation and moved on.

I am not going to show you what Margie is holding in her hand, because it might be a gift for someone. It might not be, but if it is, I would not want to spoil the surprise.

Out in the hall, a little boy took a ride on giant duckling.

We left the store with two days to go. This is the earliest we have ever done our shopping. Especially me. I am usually in a store at closing time on Christmas Eve, buying ceramic roosters, things like that.

Next we went to Fred Meyer's, where a raven sat upon a pole. You can't tell it in this tiny window, but that raven has its head cocked to one side. It looks very "Chooo 'weet."

Margie checks out some socks as gifts for grandkids. When I was small, it was such a great disappointment to open up a gift only to find socks. I wanted toys!

Now, this looks like a gift that a little boy could like! At least if his name is Kalib Hess. But then Kalib already has a spatula. What would he do with another?

I suppose this must be adorable, but personally, I found it to be just a little bit eery and frightening, somewhat macabre.

Then we happened upon a very cute scene - the two month old puppy, Brisa, held in the warm embrace of her human, Sierra.

Although we had eaten breakfast out, we found ourselves feeling hungry again. So we drove past the little cove at the west end of Wasilla lake, looking for hotdogs.

We found two hotdogs - both at Dairy Queen.

Dairy Queen has good hot dogs - especially the foot-longs. To all those from out of town who wonder whether or not they should come and visit Wasilla - come. If nothing else, for the Dairy Queen hot dogs.

They will taste just the same as the Dairy Queen hot dogs in your town, if you are an American.

So you will feel right at home - even if our little city is a bit more odd than yours. Which, trust me, it will be.

The view from Dairy Queen as I eat my hot dog. How come these guys are still up here in the north?

Late in the evening, Margie and I headed to Carr's, to buy turkeys and other food for Christmas dinner. Just as we reached the turkeys, this fellow stopped me. "Are you the guy who does the Wasilla 300 blog?" he asked.

Indeed, I am.

He told me that we disagree politically, but that he loves the blog - especially some of the stories that I do in Rural Alaska. He said that he has been looking out for me as he moves around town.

"Wasilla is a small town," he said. "I knew we would cross paths some day."

And there she is, my Margie, checking out the turkeys. We bought two 16 pounders.

And this one from India:

Remember the scorpion from yesterday? Photographed at, as Cawitha refreshed my memory with the name that just always flees my brain, Hampi?

I took this picture approximately 100 yards away from the place where I took that one.

It is Melanie, about to be blessed by an elephant. A "chooo 'weet" elephant.

For those who did not read the comments left on yesterday's post, one was left by Cawitha, Soundarya's cousin.

Yesterday, I speculated how Sandy might have reacted if I could have showed her the photo of the scorpion, and that was with the word, "Chooo'weet! I added that there was one element in the photo that would likely have disturbed her - namely, that the string had been tied to the scorpion's stinger.

Cawitha agreed, and took it one step further. She imagined Sandy not looking at the picture but being there at Hampi with us:

"Am sure Soundarya (Sandy) would have said "Chooo 'weet" and if she were to see this she would have ensured the arthropod was set free. She was the most compassionate person."

Thank you, Cawitha. I am certain that is exactly what Sandy would have done. And no matter how tough a guy the individual walking the scorpion might have imagined himself to be, he would have had to back down to her, just as did the vet who at first refused to treat the raven that she saved with Anil's help.

Cawitha, btw, has been my friend since the day that Sandy wed Anil. Like Margie, Cawitha does not like to be photographed and so that day asked me to please not take her picture. I didn't, unless maybe as part of the crowd, so I cannot show you what she looks likes. 

However, we are committed to one day going "trekking" together, perhaps in the Himalayas, perhaps in Alaska, maybe both. I expect that then, I will get her picture.

I can't be postive, but I think so.

Now, contrast this picture to yesterday's. Everything is turned around. It is the animal who is huge and powerful, the person who is small and relatively weak - especially because this person does not have the protection of a poisonous stinger.

But the elephant is gentle. The elephant blesses my daughter with its strength. The elephant does not harm her. And when the elephant laid the end of its heavy and powerful trunk upon my daughter's head, so powerful that it could easily have wrapped it around her neck and broken it, it felt like a blessing to her. 

As it did to me, when the elephant blessed me.

This was the second elephant in India to bless me.

No, I do not worship elephants. But this does not mean that I cannot appreciate being blessed by one.

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