I find myself in a bit of a holding pattern. There are several fun things on the horizon, but for right now I’m at loose ends. There are projects I could finish, or start, or plan, or organize. Instead, I flit from task to task, accomplishing nothing.

I’ve been here before and I know it will pass. It’s not a state I enjoy, but it’s one I am well familiar with. I choose not to examine too closely what that says about me.

Coming up: horse racing takes to the road with the fair season; Les Amis Zydeco has some fun and interesting gigs over the summer; I’m participating in a cool PechaKucha 20×20 event on June 28th at the Albany Community Center (details coming soon); four generations of Armstrong come together at our annual clan gathering in Twain Harte. There will be much to explore and share.

Stay tuned . . .

I spent a little time this week rummaging around in my Lightroom catalog, and saw this image with fresh eyes. It is from my visit to Venice in February 2011. Something about the evening light makes it look different from almost everything else I shot there, and I like it. There is a mystery about the scene that appeals to me.

This most recent wander through the archive was inspired by a book I just finished reading: The Creative Life in Photography by Brooks Jensen. This was an important read for me right now; I have underlined passages and there are stars and arrows in the margins. I’ll be referring back to it often.

It finally made me really consider the question of why I make photographs. Why do I spend such considerable time at this pursuit? My answers become more layered as I develop my voice, but one element has been consistent from the beginning: I want to leave a trace. My photographs might be a way for future generations of my family to learn what I saw, what I felt, who I was.

Currently I have over 40,000 images in my Lightroom catalog. That includes projects, assignments, events, vacation pictures, family shots, the junk, and the keepers. While I have a “system” of file names, keywords and rankings to help me find things, anyone else would just encounter image overload. Truth is, when I’m gone my images will stay locked in their hard drives until technology changes and they are lost for good. That makes me sad.

So I was intrigued when Jensen introduced the idea of a folio as a way to present a small, specific body of work. He defines a folio as “a collection of 5-20 loose prints, enclosed in an art paper cover, typically exploring a single theme, idea, or place.” You can see what he means here.

Creating folios of past work would require that I sharpen my editing and curating skills until only the strongest few images, and perhaps some defining or explanatory text, comprise the finished product. It’s unlikely that the image at the top of the post will ever go out beyond this blog. But it might very well be included in a folio called My Favorite 11 Images From 2011. That would give it a life it would never have, buried in my Lightroom catalog.

And going forward, the folio structure might actually shape the projects I choose to pursue and complete. That’s an exciting thought. I like telling stories with multiple images. Of course I’d love for them to find an audience in the wider world. But there is something about this elegant, contained format that challenges me to fill it with the strongest images I can produce, so that I leave something beautiful (and finished) behind.

So how about you? How do you like to present your photographs? Web only? Photo books? Framed art on the wall? Gallery shows? What do you think about this folio idea?

Sometimes I just take pictures of things that catch my eye. I’m not working on a project; I’m probably not even experimenting or trying to learn something new. But I’m still looking, and if I have my camera with me I’ll use it. Which means I have a lot of images in my catalog that aren’t going anywhere. They have no real meaning. They simply represent something that looked interesting to me at a particular moment.

I was going back through images from two visits to Port Townsend, Washington, and discovered these windows. They seem kind of cool, but I don’t know how to categorize them. I don’t see myself going forward with a long-term project about windows. These aren’t really a set or a collection. They’re just a bunch of pictures of windows, and I happen to like them.

I also like language, and I aspire to order. There must be a word that would encompass random cool stuff. That got me thinking about collective nouns. There are some wonderful ones (and these are just birds): a lamentation of swans; an ostentation of peacocks; an unkindness of ravens.

So what would you call a group of images that you made for no good reason other than they caught your eye one day?

What would you call a bunch of windows?

I don’t think I know anyone who hasn’t been touched by cancer in some way, and it can be cruel. So it was uplifting to witness my Albany friends and neighbors gather at Cougar Field on Saturday to fight back. In this Relay for Life, they took turns walking the track for twenty-four hours straight, because cancer never sleeps. It was so moving to hear survivor stories, and to see survivors and their loved ones walking together in defiance and celebration. As the sun went down, the luminaria lining the track began to glow softly. That’s when we remembered.

This is such a worthwhile cause. You can learn about other relays at the American Cancer Society’s website.

Thank you Beth Pollard, Kim Denton, Albany Firefighters, Albany Rotary Club, the Albany YMCA, and everyone else who participated in and supported this effort. We’ve just got to beat this thing.

My current challenge is to find a camera or a camera/lens combination that will allow me to enjoy the experience of photography, capture the kinds of images I want, and not drive the (non-photographer) people I love crazy. When I go out with my camera on my own I generally take my time. I don’t mind carrying my lens bag and switching things up as needed. I’m not very good company on these outings. The conversations I have are with myself as I look for the right perspective, move closer or farther away, and try out some “what ifs”.

But when I’m with family and friends, I need to lighten up in every sense.

I thought the solution might be to get a compact camera. I’m a Canon shooter, so I bought the Canon G1X and took it along when Todd and I went to London last year. The experiment was not a success. I still have not bonded with that camera. The viewfinder is pretty much useless, and I don’t like composing on a screen. It doesn’t feel good in my hands. I’m sure it’s a perfectly fine camera; it’s just not for me. The pictures from London came out okay, but the experience of taking them was frustrating and un-fun. That’s not compromise. That’s defeat.

I like my Canon 7D. We understand each other and usually play together nicely. I like how it feels when I put my eye to the viewfinder. I even like the sound the shutter makes. Yes, it’s big and heavy. But it’s reliable, and that’s what I want in a traveling companion.

So I just bought an all-in-one zoom lens. It’s a Tamron 18-270 and so far it looks like this could be the answer. It’s much lighter than my beloved L-Series lenses, for which my aging back is grateful. At 3.5-6.3, it’s not as fast as I’d like, but that’s part of the compromise. I’m very satisfied with the image quality. For the picture above, I wanted the compression and shallow depth of field that a long focal length provides, and I was able to get it with a minimum of fuss and bother. This is one of my favorites from a long day of playing tour guide with a friend from the UK. The day wasn’t “about” photography, but photography was an integral and fun part of the day. Success!

So I’m a zoomer. Unapologetically.

And everyone is having a good time.

My friend Maureen came to visit last week. She lives in the southwest of England and had never been to the United States. She attended a conference in San Francisco and tacked on a few extra days to play. She explored the city pretty extensively, with me and on her own. Friday was a beautiful day and I was determined to show Maureen the sights. Lots of sights. We’d start with Muir Woods, head to the beach, drive over to the Marin headlands, maybe get to Pt. Bonita lighthouse, and end up in Sausalito. Check, check, check.

The day started as scheduled. Muir Woods really is a special place well worth a visit. And Muir Beach is a little hidden gem if ever there was one. We were seeing the sights and getting it done. Then we drove past the Pelican Inn and saw the scene above. It looked idyllic.

“Here’s the thing,” I said to Maureen. We had been enjoying a string of unseasonably gorgeous days, so she had no appreciation of how rare and precious warm blue-sky days are by the coast. “I’m happy to stick to the plan. Or we can stop here for a while and just enjoy a cup of tea on the lawn.” She agreed that was a no-brainer. I knew I liked her.

For the next hour or more (I lost track of time) we sat in the sun, talked and laughed, sipped our tea, and watched people come and go. In that time we magically recalibrated from go-go-going sightseers to two friends having a lovely day together. It’s like we took HAVE FUN (DAMMIT) off our to-do list. What a concept!

We opened ourselves up to discovery and noticed what was right across the street.

Behind this colorful row of mailboxes (the longest in Northern California, I can now tell you) lies a bit of California history that was completely new to me. The big barn and the other wooden outbuildings are the remnants of what was once the largest dairy serving the San Francisco area.

The property is now part of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and home to the Golden Gate Dairy Stables, operated by Ocean Riders of Marin. Don’t you just love that name? One of the horse owners invited us to wander around. Even with permission, it felt like we were getting away with something. This blond horse, in particular, seemed like an enchanted creature. I kept looking for the unicorn horn.

We explored, and lingered, and talked to the horses. We had an unexpected adventure, with no thought of the time or the next item on our itinerary.

It all began when we surrendered to the delights of a nice cup of tea.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how my study of photography has changed in recent years. As someone who is largely self-taught, I have purchased and consumed my share of how-to books. Everything from basic instruction in understanding exposure, to general guides to improving composition, to discussions of specific genres of photography like portraiture. I’m sure I learned something from every one of them, but after a while they came to feel less and less helpful.

There are still many, many aspects of the craft in which I am not even close to expert, and I keep practicing to try to fill those gaps. But now I am less concerned with the how of photography and much more interested in the why. Why do I want to make pictures? What do I want to say with these images? Do I have a vision or a voice worth sharing? I’m still trying to figure out my answers to the first two questions, and on discouraging days the answer to the third one is a resounding “no.” But every once in a while I can answer “yes” (however tentatively), and those days are thrilling.

I can say with certainty that my journey with photography changed and deepened when I found the right community for me. I have written about the Close to Home Workshop before, and the Artist’s Round Table. I’ve told you about Rear Curtain. These endeavors, with Ray Ketcham and Sabrina Henry at their core, have attracted the most remarkable group of storytellers. Each is curious, talented, and dedicated. Each believes this kind of work matters, and together we strive to do it better. But — and this is important — they prove that you can be serious about the work and also be generous, supportive, non-competitive, and kind. And funny.

I won’t deny that “likes” and comments on Facebook and here make me very, very happy. It’s lovely to know that there really are people out there in Internet Land who respond in that way to my images and posts. (Please don’t stop.) But if you are also trying to learn and grow in your art, whatever it might be, I highly recommend finding just a few folks that you really trust with whom you can share your work. The kind of feedback they can provide is more than just validating. It’s actually helpful.

The trust thing is key for me. I don’t have any kind of formal training in art or art history, and at my age I don’t want to have to apologize or pretend. But I still want to learn. So this year I am participating in another Ray-and-Sabrina invention called The IDEA Group: Image Discussion for Emerging Artists. We meet every two weeks via a hangout on Google+. We choose a topic, a photographer, or an artist, and spend two weeks learning. Then we come together to discuss. I am still surprised at the importance of this missing piece in my education. Studying the greats is invaluable in one’s growth as a creative. Immitation is never the goal, but allowing what has gone before to influence and then simply inform one’s own work adds texture, richness, and meaning.

It was through IDEA that I was introduced to William Albert Allard, who pretty much rocked my world. He is a master of the photographic essay. He connects with his subjects in both words and images with such power and emotion. I now proudly own three of his books, and studying his work teaches me so much more than any how-to manual out there. Truly good stuff.

We also share other good stuff with each other, and it is through the IDEA Group that I found the On Taking Pictures podcast. Every Tuesday, Bill Wadman and Jeffery Saddoris talk to each other (and us) about the art, science, and philosophy of photography. I love the tone of this podcast. It’s is encouraging and endearing that these two artists, who are so much more accomplished than I, still struggle with some of the same doubts and questions as I do. The podcast is funny, informative, deep, and always honest. And they seem like really nice guys. Nice is good. Each podcast has accompanying show notes that link to amazing amounts of information. It’s a treasure trove in there.

I’ll close by sharing two blogs that you might like to check out. They are very different from each other, but they both make me happy every time they post something new.

The first is JerseyStylePhotography. I love the things Mark Krajnak sees and the way he sees them.

The second is Obvious State. Evan Robertson’s illustrations are clever and creative, but I am particularly drawn to Nichole Robertson’s photography. There is a very specific kind of romance to her images of Paris. And, yes, I want to go to there.

Well, this was a very long post. I’m going to step away from the computer, grab my camera, and go make something.

Let me know if you find this type of post useful or interesting. Leave a comment. I love those.

Last Saturday was a beautiful day at Golden Gate Fields, and an exciting one too.

I have been visiting Golden Gate Fields regularly for almost eight months now. I’ve spent a lot of time in trainer Nick Sloan’s barn; I’ve talked to a lot of folks; I’ve met top jockey Russell Baze twice. I know how hard everyone works and I understand the importance of a win.

On Saturday, Nick continued his hot streak with a great performance from What’s For Dinner in the second race. Jockey Russell Baze got one first-place closer to the record-shattering milestone of 12,000 career wins. Their individual talents combined to produce a flawless result. Groom Jaime Fernandez saw his efforts attending to the horse pay off. Owners Jon Harris and Bonnie Marshall were there to cheer for their boy. On that day, for that race, they were all a team. And I — who had absolutely nothing to do with any of it — celebrated too. It’s personal now.

I thought you might like to see what it’s like to be there for the race. They make it look so easy.

Last weekend I followed my new favorite band, Les Amis Zydeco, to Newark where they were playing a gig at Swiss Park. It was a fun venue with a big dance floor, but it was something of a photographic challenge. The staging made it hard to get anything particularly interesting of the group. (I did get to say “I’m with the band,” though. That was pretty great.)

I had more opportunity to step back and observe the crowd than I did last time at the Penngrove Pub. The dynamics are so different when a band is not so much “performing for” but “engaging with” their audience. Les Amis Zydeco is about dancing, and from the first song to the last, people were on their feet. I love that.

This is my favorite image from the evening. I like the warmth and happiness it exudes. That’s how it felt to be there, and I thought we could all use a little of that today.

This one will be a little bit of me talking to me.

I like to travel, and I like photography. Sometimes those two pursuits go very well together, but sometimes they don’t. The fact is that the photography enthusiast on vacation can very quickly drive her family crazy. Nothing is more boring than following someone around while she tries to get the shot. And, really, is that what a family vacation is for? Traveling for photography is wonderful. So is traveling to spend special time with the people you love. It’s just really important to remember which kind of trip you’re on.

Sometimes it’s more important to be there than to find ways to prove you were there.

But just because you’re not seeking that perfect shot of [fill in the blank] at dawn, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take pictures. Photography really can be just for fun sometimes. It’s fun to capture moments of silliness or joy as souvenirs of time spent together. They won’t become part of your artistic body of work. They’re part of your life.

So I look at this picture. In 1997, our family traveled to Italy to visit cousins living in Naples. Several days into the trip we all went to Pompeii. It was hot, Hilary was six, and she had just about seen her limit of marble statues on pedestals. She decided if she couldn’t beat ‘em, she’d join ‘em, and show us all how it ought to be done.

Is there anything special about this picture? No. This is definitely not art. But it takes me right back to that day, that moment. It tells me a story that makes me smile. And sixteen years later, I know I treasure this much more than I would a perfectly composed and executed image of Mount Vesuvius at sunset.

It’s a story that is specific to our family, and a snapshot that only matters to us. But I wonder if there isn’t something universal there too. Maybe it makes you think of trips you’ve taken with family or friends, and the little moments you shared. Maybe it reminds you to go find those pictures and look at them again.

Doesn’t that have value?

And, really. Isn’t she cute?