Documentary Photography

A lifetime of journaling

For decades now, I have kept journals. They have taken different forms over the years. When I was in high school, I embraced a daily record method. That trait carried into my next phase of keeping journals, to record my thoughts, impressions, ideas, and stories when I travelled. This turned into rigorous daily practice, when I hiked down the Pacific Crest Trail, or lived and worked in Chile, or worked on photo projects in Turkey. The act of remembering the day forced a discipline into my travels. The act made me reflect and contemplate what I saw or learned. I never went to sleep without putting pen to paper.

Today, the journals fill two small storage boxes. Occasionally I will open one of the old journals and use the words to recall people or events. Then, a flood of memories comes back to me. I used many of these journals as my workbooks to flesh out ideas for stories I later wrote. I suppose they are one of my legacies. If a fire occurs, they are lost. If I die unknown, they will be thrown away. If I perhaps one day achieve “fame” (I am fairly certain that is not my destiny at this point), they could end up in a dusty archive, never to be seen. So maybe they are just like a golden treasure I still hoard, as if they had magic properties. I open the secret cask, blow away the dust, and conjure up times and places far away. 

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Seattle’s South Park neighborhood

South Park is located in south Seattle, surrounded by industrial activities, the Duwamish River, and some major arterials. It is, by Seattle standards, lower income, given the physical and built environment. Still, it is home to many families and others who live here, in single family homes, subsidized housing, and apartments. More Latinos call it home than any other racial or ethnic group. A number of Latino-owned businesses can be found in the main intersection at Cloverdale and South Fourteenth Avenue. The South Park Bridge, which has been under repair for four years, cutting off a lot of potential business for the area, finally reopened this summer. The bridge now includes a lot of steel artwork, which I like. I also spied some developments along the industrial Duwamish, on land claimed by the Port of Seattle. I have no idea what is happening there. (Click on each photograph to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Grave of a Nez Perce warrior, Yellow Wolf
A grave for Nez Perce warrior Yellow Wolf was erected by “white friends” in his honor.

I passed through the Colville Reservation this summer, which encompasses a huge swath of land in the north central part of Washington State. On the way, I stopped at the Nez Perce Cemetery. The Nez Perce are among the 12 confederated tribes who make up the reservation. This is one of the graves in the cemetery. The gravestone reads: “Yellow Wolf / Patriot Warrior of the Nez Perce ‘lost cause’ 1877 / Marker placed by white friends”

The persecution of the Nez Perce led to one of the more sorrowful chapters of the conquest of the American West. In 1877, multiple U.S. Cavalry commanders chased more than 750 Nez Perce men, women, and families for more than 1,000 miles starting in Oregon all the way to the current border with Canada, though not in the lands managed by the Colville Reservation. This event and trail is now recognized as the Nez Perce Trail, commemorated by the U.S. Congress in 1968. In the words of one Nez Perce descendant, Frank B. Andrews: “We the surviving Nez Perces, want to leave our hearts, memories, hallowed presence as a never-ending revelation to the story of the event of 1877.”

(Click on the photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Father and son

 

I took this as part of a series I was working on with black and white film. I still miss the drama of loading film in a dark room, and always feeling excited by the drama of waiting for the results. There is something about the grain of silver halide crystals.

More than a decade ago, I was enmeshed in world of black and white portrait photography and enlisted friends, coworkers, and strangers into my open air studio–meaning anywhere outside. Here is one from that time period, and both father and son today are doing just great. See more of my portraits on my web site portrait page. (Click on the photo go see the picture on a separate picture page.)

Before she leaves for college, moms and daughters (black and white)
This is from my latest shoot of mothers and daughters, in black and white.
This is from my latest shoot of mothers and daughters, in black and white.
This is from my latest shoot of mothers and daughters, in black and white.

 

This is the second of my portrait series of mothers and daughters, of F and her daughter K, but this time in black and white. I captured this just as K gets ready to leave home next month to pursue her new life at a four-year program. This is a wonderful time to capture the final moments of a full nest. All smiles here. (Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Before she leaves for college, moms and daughters

 

This is from my latest shoot of mothers and daughters, in color.

This is the second in my series of moms and daughters pictures. I wanted to capture F and her daughter K before K left home to begin her four-year university program. Today, I will share a color photo from that set. Tomorrow, I will publish black and white photos. I really enjoyed this shoot. (Click on the photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

 

Grain Silos in the Palouse

 

Silos like the one seen here just of Highway 195, dot the landscape between Spokane and Pullman, Wash.

Washington’s wheat, barley, and lentil country is dotted with silos that hold the crops til they find their buyers on the national and international markets. Some of that grain eventually arrives where I live, in Seattle, and is moved onto ships that sail off to faraway ports, in China, Japan, and wherever the market dictates. In many ways these silos serve as landmarks to the global trade upon which nearly all of these farmers and this state are dependent. (Click on the photography to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)

Mothers and daughters … the backyard shoot
From my series of mothers and daughters

About two weeks ago I saw a mother and daughter holding hands and walking together at a local farmer’s market. I thought about the many mothers and daughters I know, and have known, and also have photographed. I realized that some of my best pictures have been through this pairing, which sheds light on this special relationship. Yesterday, I shot the first of my new series. It was a good learning experience for me, and I found some things I can do better. I would do better if I had an underpaid or unpaid intern, but hey, you sometimes cannot have such luxuries. I also can shoot a little slower, but at times it is in those fast and spontaneous moments when the truth of the love between a mother and her daughter are revealed more clearly and captured in pixels. There definitely will be more to come. (Click on each photograph to see a larger picture in a separate picture page.)

Photos from the Owens family tree

 

This was taken, I believe, at the family farm, in Michigan.

From time to time I like to publish old photos from the family vault. I am adopted, and it was not until I was 24 when I learned about my biological family ancestry, on my birth mother’s side. Her father, Vyrl Owens, comes from a long line of mostly farmers, with roots in Michigan, Indiana, New York, Vermont, New York, even Rhode Island. They mostly have Welsh, English, and I think a bit of Irish ancestry in there too.

I love old pictures because they show how different people looked before our modern era. There was a certain toughness and resolve. People were not afflicted, yet, with the curse of obesity, mostly because of their diets and because of the hard work most of them did.

Here is a photograph of my biological grandfather, Vyrl Owens, taken when he worked in Greenland under contract, helping to build the Thule Air Base. The black and white photo is of his mother, my great-grandmother, Addie Mae Baker (Owens), and her daughter, Vyrl’s sister, and my great-aunt, Thelma. Addie Mae died in 1977, when she was 93 years old. She clearly was a strong woman. I have her masterful nose. I hope I have her Midwestern, live-long-with-grit genes too.

(Click on each photograph to see a larger picture in a separate picture page.)

A monument at Hangman Creek
This monument was erected in 1935 by Spokane residents at the location where the warrior Qualchan/Qualchew and six other Indian warriors were hanged by the U.S. Cavalry in 1858. Today it is a tourist attraction for history buffs, which I count myself among.

About 20 miles south of Spokane stands a monument to one of many sad stories of the subjugation of American Indians by the U.S. government. In 1858, the U.S. Cavalry was engaged in open military combat in eastern Washington with numerous Indian bands, despite treaties having been signed three years earlier that ceded much of the state to the United States. Led by Col. George Wright, the U.S. forces had all but defeated five tribes in the region, which included the killing of 800 Indian horses. Facing overwhelming odds, the indigenous forces decided to end the conflict.

A Yakama Nation warrior Qualchan (also called Qualchew) surrendered to Wright’s forces on Sept. 25, 1858, at a spot near an open meadow and a small creek the Indians called Latah. Though Qualchan/Quelchew surrendered while bearing a white flag, he was hung within 15 minutes from a tree. That was followed with the hanging of six Palouse warriors the next day. The incidents, brutal in their boldness, typified the period of conquest in Washington. The killing of the Qualchan/Qualchew was not the only hanging incident of tribal leaders during these turbulent years.

To honor the significant event in the settling of the region, local leaders in Spokane erected a granite monument at the spot where it is believed the hangings took place. The creek today is called Hangman. It flows into Spokane. There is even a Spokane golf course, Hangman Valley, bearing the name of the incidents that took place in the mid-1800s. You can read an informative 1997 story about the creek’s name  that was published by the Spokesman Review newspaper.

The day I visited the marker, a half-dozen other visitors, some American Indians, also had pulled over to photograph the spot. The location today is marked by a nondescript historic location sign on the rural road with no description of the events that took place here. The only information is what is inscribed on the stone. Given Americans’ love of Western history, I believe this location will grow in popularity in coming years, creating opportunities to tell the story of this state and the West. Perhaps this spot could benefit from an additional cultural interpretive sign and a little slick marketing by the city. History can be good for business, after all. I can point to hundreds of examples making this business case.

(Click on each photo to see a larger picture on a separate picture page.)