Tag Archives: arizona

January 16 – Those “Creative Types” We Know…

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01-16 Creative Types post

Artists and egos go together like milk and cookies, now, don’t they? Where you find the one, you’re likely to find the other. It’s as though creative people are perpetually prepared to defend their work. And we all know what defensive personalities can do, don’t we? That’s right. They can lash out viciously like frightened wild animals. Bisbee boasts a wonderful arts scene in Southern Ariona, and that wouldn’t be a lie. But the happy-go-lucky vibe Bisbee also likes to boast about itself? Well, that’s not entirely correct. The fact is, the economy there is contracting and the town has gentrified significantly from the dirt-cheap 1960s of yore. Rents are higher, fewer dollars are flowing into the town, and there’s greater competition for a seat at the winner’s table. Sometimes there are hurt feelings when you struggle to promote your work, and sometimes you get thrown under the bus. Sometimes our melt-downs are very, painfully public.

That kind of thing happens in a small town, I guess.

During my tenure, I created enough problems for myself with this big old dumb mouth of mine. I’ve also quietly watched other peoples’ struggles unfold like a great big dusty rug on social media, ready for a thorough beating. We take our licks and hopefully learn something from the experience. We also discover who those people are that never seem to enter the arena, but always sit on the sidelines like carnival barkers, ready to cut you down to size, and ready to help fan the flames of a small conflict into a dangerous firestorm. Having a creative passion is something of a spectator sport, especially in a small town, but heck – criticism is part of the game, too.

People that can’t handle criticism should never pursue a career in the arts. Period.

In my humble opinion, when an artist is surrounded only by cheerleaders who celebrate each attempt as though it were the Mona Lisa itself? That’s absolutely freaking wonderful! We all need positive support. But it also means that the artist may be in the perfect position to experiment with something new, to try a new subject, style, venue, audience. The real danger of a town like Bisbee is that it’s such an incredibly small and insular place, and there are a lot of big fish. Things can get ugly when resources are scarce.

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I say all of this not to stoke the flames of malcontent. It appears as though the most recent round of conflict in the Bisbee art scene has played itself out (at least in social media). I say all of this in relation to the image above, made by a gentleman who used to live in the brick building on Brewery Gulch across from the dog park. That is, if anyone ever really recognized it as a dog park. At one point or another, I think I remember people jokingly referring to it as “parvo park,” which didn’t inspire much confidence. Nevertheless, the brick building was festooned with mesh wire, painted mannequins, Christmas lights, and other random, presumably “found” objects. Some viewed it as an eyesore, others loved it. Visitors could be seen taking pictures of it with their smartphones every weekend.

I can’t pick sides. I don’t know the whole story. I just know that the eccentric old beast who decorated that building doesn’t live in Bisbee any longer. He may have brought it upon himself, or maybe somebody just didn’t like the cut of his jib. The extent of my knowledge is that he was run out of town. The right mixture of hubris, ego, madness, creativity, and drugs will always yield interesting results – and I’m confident all of those elements were at play. When creative types collide, sparks fly.

It’s my understanding he lives in Jerome now and he’s happy there, so there’s that. I don’t miss the dog park, but I do kind of miss the crazy decorations on that old building.

Oh well. Time marches on.

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January 15 – On A Hill In Bisbee

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01-15 Hilltop Bisbee post

“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.”
~Aristotle

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I decided to dig through the archives for today’s photograph. I have a mountain of pictures that not only haven’t been published, but have almost been forgotten. I like to sift through old files, look back on all the faces and scenery I’ve been blessed enough to photograph. When my motivation is languishing – when I’m feeling the impulse to create something but don’t know where to begin – going through old photographs always helps.

One of my favorite places in the whole world is the hilltop that overlooks Brewery Gulch and all of Old Bisbee. That old Arizona town is unspeakably picturesque. Years ago, I’ve been told, a local man – I wish I could recall his name – could be seen hauling materials, an armload at a time, up and down the rocky path that winds up the hill. And anybody who visits Bisbee eventually sees the big white cross on the hill. Most folks aren’t able to find the trail without being shown the way.

Local folks have added their own candles, keepsakes, statues, prayer flags and vials of water. A local woman placed her husband’s ashes up there. A small red dollhouse-sized memorial was fixed onto the hilltop when Derrick and Amy Ross – our Nowhere Man and Whiskey Girl – passed away a couple years ago. On the backside of the hill is a makeshift shrine for those who braved the desert heat in an attempt to cross into America. Toothbrushes, children’s shoes, baby bottles, rosaries, backpacks, sunglasses, and clothing have been collected and hung atop the rocks beneath the visage of the Guadalupe Virgin.

I hiked up there several times a week, not often running into other people. I never grew tired of the view. Just thinking about it, I can almost feel the sense of calm in the wind in the summertime, watching monsoon storms roll in from the distance. It is a very special place. I look forward to being there again soon.

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January 08 – Tragedy In Tucson

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01-08 Tragedy in Tucson post

“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”

~Plato

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Five years ago violence was visited upon Tucson when a gunman opened fire at a grocery store parking lot. Nineteen individuals were shot, including United States Representative Gabrielle Giffords. Six people lost their lives. I expect that this anniversary will be marked by many in the media, especially after President Obama’s executive order earlier this week. Gun control legislation continues to be a huge point of contention among American voters, but gun violence continues to be an undeniable problem. This isn’t the forum for an individual like myself to hammer out a screed about the issue. All I know is that I was in Tucson that day and I remember how it felt.

I had only just heard the news when my phone rang. A gentleman from SIPA Press introduced himself. He had received my name from a journalist friend of mine, who had explained I’d likely be available to cover the story. This would be the first time I was ever hired to work as a photographic journalist. With shaky hands and shallow breath, I packed up my gear and headed down to the University Medical Center where the wounded, including Representative Giffords, were being treated. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do this job, and I certainly didn’t know what to expect. But I knew I had to go and try my best to do a decent and respectful job.

The next several days were a blur of people in mourning, of funerals and press conferences, of being pressured to go to Jared Loughner’s home and try and get pictures. Any time when I began to feel like a paparazzo, I put my camera down. There were some things I wouldn’t do. Cristina Green – the nine-year-old girl who lost her life in the shooting – was particularly challenging. The media predictably poured in like ghouls for the funeral, sticking microphones into crying faces and asking people “how do you feel, sitting out here” while they choked and sobbed their responses. I was thankful, in that moment, to be a photographer; I was able to do my job from a distance rather than invade people’s space in a moment of sadness.

There is a lot more I could say – about violent political rhetoric, about the second amendment, about the moments years later when I got to sit down with Mark Kelly and Gabby for a brief cup of coffee – but again, I don’t really think this is the place. Gabby has made more of a recovery than any of us could have ever hoped or expected. Jared Loughner, the wild-eyed gunman, is serving seven consecutive life sentences. The world is still here, even if it has been deprived of a not-so-insignificant portion of peace and happiness.

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