Christo's Umbrellas, Tejon Pass, October 1991

Some of the 1,760 umbrellas that conceptual artist Christo had installed over the rocky and undulating hills of Tejon Pass, situated between Los Angeles and Bakersfield in 1991. When I scanned this slide, I kept the slide borders, as it reminded me of looking out a window. I took this photo during a short trip my friend Breck Wilson and I took to see the umbrellas. I was impressed. Sadly, a woman viewing the umbrellas on a windy day was killed when one of the umbrellas fell over.

TJW

TJW
(Song lyrics inspired by Tony Joe White)

by Richard Graham

Long ago he’d moved away
Time blew through the fields and trees
Years long gone felt like yesterday
And he fell down to his knees

He clutched an old book, fingers clasped
As the weathered shack creaked in the breeze
Short of breath, he wheezed and gasped
Raising his head, he whispered, “Please”

He smelled the bayou’s whisky musk
A frog croaked not too far off
An owl hooted in the dusk
And he started to shake and cough

Gathering sticks and dried moss
A hand-rolled cigarette burning down
He started a small fire
And stared at it with a frown

Wondering why he felt so bad
Thinking about goodness and sin
He reached for a beer
As his cigarette burned down to skin

Shaking his hand and setting the bottle down
He grabbed his scratched up guitar
Picking and slashing out a song
He sent a tune out to the stars

Slinging the guitar over his back
Throwing the empty bottle away
He walked away from the shadowy shack
And turned the key in his rusty Chevrolet

Sedona Self Portrait

I set my camera up on a tripod for this shot, which was taken somewhere outside of Sedona, Arizona, in the late 1990s. My guitar case is covered with roller hockey stickers. I miss my RAV 4, but the two-door version had a propensity to roll -- something I found out within a couple of years of taking this photograph. I owe my current existence to the seatbelt. Toyota stopped making the 2-door version after its second year. Without a vehicle these days, I'm about as "green" as a person can be, but I miss those road trips. Deeply.

Malibu Pier Sunset

I'm struck by how the sunset shines through the pier's pilings on this silhouette shot.

Monument Valley Haze

There isn't much to talk about this photograph in terms of quality -- the hazy sky is washed out and not very attractive, and there's not much detail in the shadows -- but Monument Valley is one of my favorite places. This shot illustrates a part of its attractiveness to me: A dirt road leading to where? What were the stories of the Indians who lived here long ago, and who live near here now? A sense of mystery. Starkness. The outcroppings to the left and center are called, quite appropriately, Left Mitten and Right Mitten.

Bridge Over the Digdeguash River

This covered bridge is next to my uncle's "camp" next to the Digdeguash River, not far from St. Andrews, New Brunswick, my father's birthplace. Vandals burned down the bridge one Halloween some years ago. I shot the photograph in 1984 while on a trip with my college friend Rob Krier. Rob was born on May 10, just like me, though he is much, much older.

Avalon Harbor, Catalina Island

Considering its proximity to Los Angeles, I should try to get over to Catalina Island more often. I've taken the ferry across from Long Beach with a bunch of triathletes to cover a race for Triathlete magazine, and a bunch of roller hockey players to cover a tournament for Roller Hockey magazine. I've also crossed over to the island on a friend's small boat. We came upon a massive pod of dolphins, and it was exhilarating to have them surf through our wake, swim alongside us and ride the bow wave. It was an amazing experience that I will never forget.

Grenada Coastline

This is a lonely part of the coastline of Grenada, a Caribbean island I visited while covering a triathlon for Triathlete magazine in about 1990. At about the time I took this shot, another photographer showed up. Rolling up his pants, he waded into the surf to get shots of the crashing waves. We talked for a while, and I learned that he had published a book of photography. Small wonder -- he obviously went the extra mile to get certain shots. Still, I'm happy with the scene I captured.

Swim Start, USTS Phoenix, 1987

This is one of my favorite shots from my days as a writer and editor at Triathlete magazine. I took it at the start of the professional men's swim leg of the U.S. Triathlon Series event in Phoenix, Arizona. Series' points leader Mike Pigg is wearing the red swim cap.

Time for the Dentist

I haven't yet been to Africa, but I imagine that the hippopotamus there have better teeth than this poor zoo-bound brother. Get that man to the dentist!

Ghost Trees on Kona

This was one tree. I simply took one shot, rewound the film in my camera, moved the camera a little bit to the right, and took another shot. The photograph was taken on the Big Island of Hawaii, near the Mauna Loa volcano.

Rob Krier, Crater Lake, Oregon, 1984

I took this photograph in 1984 when my San Diego State University friend Rob Krier and I took a two-month, 17,000-mile road trip across the United States and Canada. Oregon's Crater Lake is one of my favorite spots on earth. It sits in the caldera of an ancient volcano, and its deep, dark-blue waters are cold and clear and wondrous.

Oceanside Pier and Reflection

There's something about the pier in Oceanside, California, that my camera seems to like. In this shot, it's the long expanse of beach that makes for a great reflection from the sky. Check out the tiny dot on the water to the far left of the photo -- that's a surfer.

On the Path

This shot was taken from just outside the eastern edge of the Garden of the Gods, in Colorado Springs, Colorado. I like the dead trees and the little bridge on the path toward what is the coolest city park I've ever seen in my life.

The Old Man in the Tree

I shot this at the entrance to a fee-based state park in Colorado not too awfully far from Cripple Creek. I didn't note the location because I wasn't prepared to pay an entrance fee, but I did notice this tree near the check-in kiosk, and marveled at the grimacing face in the tree created by time and an industrious bird or two. It's one of my favorite recent shots, and was taken in the spring of 2008.

Leaf. Us. Alone. Immortal.

This is one of my favorite recent shots. I walk on this sidewalk frequently while I'm on my way to the post office, Trader Joe's, a bar or some other local business.

One day I looked down and saw this impression of a leaf that had somehow ingrained itself into the sidewalk. I suppose that it fell from its tree on a rainy night and then lay there undisturbed for some length of time while it leached its chemicals into the sidewalk.

In some way, this single leaf has found a way to immortalize itself; how rare, how heartwarming. Perhaps we too can do something similar with our own unique and ephemeral lives.

Living in the hills above Escondido, 1985

IN LATE FALL

Living in the hills above Escondido, 1985

by Richard Graham

Our mail is delivered to an address on Meadow Glen Way East, but the street sign one hundred yards before our driveway reads Cougar Pass. In years past, I’m told, mountain lions wandered the hills which surround the house where I live. Long ago chased out by the encroachment of man, the cougar here is now merely a memory evoked by a street sign.

The dirt driveway, scarred with gullies from heavy rains, leads down past a pond. In late September, bass fed on insects flying above the pond’s placid surface, but now, early in the new year, such activity has ceased. Often muddy from the rain, the pond is home for a few frogs, and its water occasionally quenches a cautious rabbit’s thirst.

Up in these hills avocados are king, but they still have to compete with thousands of rocks and boulders and scruffy patches of scrub brush. Grapefruit, orange and lemon trees, planted with foresight and heavily laden with fruit, give color to the otherwise green landscape.

The view from the house looks down into a wide canyon that is split down the middle by a red-dirt road. About seven miles away, Escondido, mist-covered in the morning, sits under a canopy of wind-rippled clouds. In the evening, city lights shine brightly, a carnival of color in the night.

In the wide expanse of sky above the valley leading down to Escondido, hawks soar in the updrafts. Sometimes, if the wind conditions are right, these graceful birds hover in one spot, their sharp eyes combing the earth below for their next meal. Perhaps conscious of this threat from above, squirrels, mice and rabbits scurry about quickly on their daily rounds.

Down in the valley, trees at Orange County Nursery that were so fiery with red, orange, yellow and purple leaves just a short time ago now seem muted and cold. The canyon wrens, singing vibrantly in late summer, are quiet now. Even the dogs in our neighbor’s yards bark less frequently.

Some of the animal life in the area is rarely seen in this more somnolent time of year. A snakeskin found in a rocky crevice gives evidence that although unseen, certain creatures lie hidden just out of sight.

Up until November, a green heron graced our pond, its bright orange legs and feet trailing behind it when it flew, startled by the presence of a human, into the stand of trees near the pond’s edge. Probably forced south by cold weather, our heron may now be somewhere in Mexico, displaying its beauty to more southern eyes.

The rose bushes on either side of the driveway grew impressive flowers of pink, red and yellow until early October. Now mostly bloomless and forlorn, they quietly await the next season of growth.

Lizards that used to dart out from behind stumps and rocks not long ago have almost disappeared. With less sun to bask in, they seem averse to showing themselves at all.

Their energetic yips suddenly breaking the night’s serene silence, coyotes awaken me. Just as suddenly, they stop. Sleep returns quickly and leaves the raucous interruption more dream than reality by the light of the morning.

On another night, two owls on a telephone wire trade hoots in the quiet. They leave only when I come to satisfy my curiosity and shine a flashlight beam up at them. Gracefully gliding away into the darkness, the owls will find a new perch where they can converse unmolested.

The rain comes lightly at first, like tiny tap dancers from heaven, then in a downpour, drumming a steady beat on the roof. As the rain begins to subside, water drips off the leaves of the trees like tears. Swollen by the rain, a small stream winds its way down into the valley from the pond and forms rushing waterfalls over the rocks in its path.

Days later, the stream, too tiny now to roar or rush, whispers. Flakes of pyrite reflect brilliantly in the shallow water, golden reminders of last summer. Unlike the cougar, summer will return.

The Dunes, Las Vegas Nevada, Pre Implosion

This is a photo I shot of the Dunes Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas before it was imploded. I set the camera to its "bulb" setting, left the aperture open, held the camera steady for a while, and then moved it around a bit to get the effect shown here.

In a way, it's a one-of-a-kind shot, because that location, as Monty Python once said about a parrot, "Is no more."

Sharp Solana Surfer Silhouette

What I like best about this photo is the sharpness of the surboard's nose, and how you can see each rock and ripple on the beach. This was a very fortuitous shot, as I was taking a walk with a friend in Solana Beach and happened to see the surfer was the sun was just setting -- and I had my camera with me. A neat shot, and one I'm very happy to have captured.

Bridal Veil Falls and Half Dome

Yosemite, California, with Bridal Veil Falls in the foreground, and Half Dome in the left background. I'd like to spend more time in this great place of natural beauty.