Words & Images
The summer too will come again in time. And we too will return to the waters of the old river, bound to the cycles of the great circle.
And this is the deeper problem with the tyranny of the “nice photograph.” It empties photography of its meaningful potential, obliterates the capacity to do meaningful work.
It is a powerful place, full of a vast and intense energy. In December the sheer expanse of the undulating hills, valleys and canyons are as imposing and thereby awe inspiring as in the summer. And the atmospheric quality of the chilling winter brings a frosted and snow laden landscape cloaked in the low clouds, adding another layer of otherworldly mystique and power to the whole place.
At that moment the world before me seemed entirely sufficient to itself, so strikingly beautiful just as it was that any alteration I could have made in my presentation of it, even something as subtle as the removal of color, would have only felt like a falsification. All there was to be done was to be as true to the scene as I could be.