Because I've not written in awhile, I figured I'd do two today.

Living the Life of an Artist

“When you do art, you submerge yourself into your own reality, your own little world. You place yourself inside what you love about life. When you celebrate that place with discipline, sometimes it shows up and is right there with you.

But when I set aside my art for a few days, it gives me the cold shoulder. It walks away from me until I again show my good intent.”   ----excerpt from Heron Dance, Reflections of a Wild Artist.

I often experience this and call it my belief about the Muse. When She comes and I pay attention, the creativity runs rampant and I am filled with joy and excitement at what I’m accomplishing. 

If I am busy and don’t take the time for the Muse, She goes away and might not come back for awhile. I am left feeling like I’ve disappointed Her. Once in awhile, She’s even a bit angry at my lack of attention to Her… my Muse has a bit of an attitude. She turns Her back on me leaving me with the feeling that I’ve missed out on something great.

I’m always grateful when She returns and once more our relationship is whole.

Living the Life of an Artist

For a few days, other things throw me off balance and artistic endeavors are sporadic. There are too many irons in the fire and it’s hard to focus on one thing.  Many days go by where I feel I’ve accomplished nothing. Life gets in the way of the art. Responsibilities drag me away from the easel and often my own perceived dilemmas create roadblocks in my mind.

Accomplishing nothing is not a one hundred percent true statement, though. Just because nothing gets finished, doesn’t mean I am not working. Sometimes the steps are very, very small. I can accept that.

And sometimes it’s not that I don’t get anything done; I am not getting art work done in the way I want to be working. If I leave the house to run errands, I am doing something that needs to be done. If I go do an interview, then I am working on an article for the paper. Breakfast with my artist friends is rewarding in that we support one another, plus there is always the opportunity for a photo op somewhere between here and there.

Living the Life of an Artist

            The excerpt from Heron Dance this morning was about courage and faith of artists. He talked about believing in the value of our work and he went on to say ”People pay lots of money for the creations of van Gogh, Picasso, Pollock, because, in part, they are monuments to courage, to belief in oneself. These artists transcended the realities of their lives, they kept at their work, stayed faithful to their vision, despite rejection, despite disappointment. Their works are seen as celebrations of faith in oneself. What makes great artists great in part is that their belief in themselves, in their vision, is great.”

It is all about continuing the work and the belief that what we do IS worth it, that our work has meaning, that others will like it. And there are those times when we can't afford new supplies, so we make do with what we have or we find other ways to be creative. Artists are not always ordinary... Oh, maybe we can seem to be for a little while, but then we fall off the grid of what most people think is a good use of time and how we should be "making money." 

I never considered that the "world looks to artists for courage." It's true, though. We have a lot of courage! Look at what we go through, yes the ridicule, the comments that we can't make a living being an artist, and all that other stuff. Yet, we persevere, we keep creating, even knowing that we seldom ever make the money back that we put into the effort. We don't give up. We find ways to do what makes us satisfied. 

"...Celebrations of faith in oneself..." Wow, even on days when I crash and am discouraged, there is still that faith in myself. I know that I can do this. I KNOW that I am an artist. Maybe that's one of the reasons I leave my work all over the house. When I look up and see those pictures and cards and scarves, I feel good knowing that this is all my work. Even if it's not sold at the moment, I know that at any time it COULD sell. Someone might walk in today and just have to have a drawing or picture. Doing the work IS worth it, even if it's just making me feel happy.

Living the Life of an Artist

Sometimes I try to do too much to a piece and for my technique, that does not work. I attempted to finish four of my drawings the other day and got discouraged with three of them. I walked away with one finished product. It’ll take me days before I can face those others again because, at the moment, I don’t like them very much.

Yesterday, on the small table easels, I attached three more blank sheets carefully torn from a 22x30 sheet. I prefer to work in smaller sizes, usually around 10x6 or smaller. I started two more drawings. The first is a re-do of one that is downstairs on the big easel and the other is from a recent photo of Lake Todd.

The time went by fast. I am trying to adapt my style and go with a “less is more” aspect and even though I use a photo as a guideline, I allow the drawing to take on its own style. Good headway was made and I am pleased with the progress. With the re-do, I am trying to figure out how to add the “hint of color.” I have an idea, but I’m not sure it’s going to work. I might experiment on a piece of scrap paper.

I am happy with yesterday’s work.

Living the Life of an Artist

What if I can’t keep up with the demand? This is a fear that bothers me; a seemingly stupid fear because the chances of that happening are quite nil. Yet, that is a concern. My stubborn mind-set tells me that as an artist, I can only work when I FEEL like working. For me to even be thinking of this “problem” is ludicrous because at this time in my artist’s career, the possibility of having my work at such demand is highly improbable.

I hold back from participating in other shows and I am unwilling to contact more galleries because if my work sold quickly, I’d have to buckle down and work harder to produce more. I’d be working, not for my own fulfillment, but to satisfy the demands of the gallery owners and customers. But we are talking about making a living here! How can I not be pushing ahead? Why in the world do I insist on making this harder than it is?

Perhaps I come up with these excuses to justify laziness. To make the issue a “fear” gives the excuse for not getting work done more validity. Admitting a fear is more acceptable than saying you are lazy. And yet, when I have an inventory of stock that hasn’t sold, how can I justify making more?

There are answers for all these questions. It’s really all about HAVING to be creative. You can’t stop just because your work doesn’t sell, nor will it cease because you are afraid. Somehow, some way, you find a way to keep going.

Living the Life of an Artist

I’ve taken a bit of a break from doing any art work as my granddaughter, Megan, is spending her vacation with me. How wonderful as she is such a joy to have around. Today I’d like to take her bowling.

It feels funny to be totally blowing off doing anything artistic. Part of me feels a little guilty that I should be working on finishing up the charcoal drawings. I’m also supposed to be getting pictures ready for a photography slam. Haven’t done any writing either, but hey, I guess I can take a week off.

Then again, it doesn’t take much to give me an excuse not to work. Why is that, when I love what I do? I love working on my art, so why don’t I work at it more often? These are questions that always make me wonder.

Am I afraid of being successful? This is another question I’ve pondered for years. How can anyone fear success? When I think of what would happen if I were very successful, it is mind-boggling. Would customers be demanding more work than I can produce? Would my time be less of my own as I’d be working with more deadlines and consignments? I would have to be making more contacts with galleries. I’d need to be more “out there” with the public and might lose my solitary time. What if I couldn’t live up to that?

Then I’d be a failure. Perhaps it is better to remain in obscurity and continue to hibernate as much as possible. Of course, the downside to this is that it doesn’t pay the bills.

Living the Life of an Artist
Oh, the things that get in the way of doing your art… life, for instance. The focus breaks and it’s hard to get back into the mood. I can’t make myself work on my art when my heart isn’t in it. I will think about it, but the motivation isn’t there. A downward spiral begins, apathy sets in, and I get mad at myself for not doing any work.
One of my goals for this year is to get into a walking routine. I know that an hour or so outside will pump me up and make me feel alive. So yesterday, I planned to do an interview with some people going on a snow shoe tour. I couldn’t actually go because I hurt my knee earlier in the week.
I was eager to do the interview and had been planning questions in my head, but when I arrived, I felt tongue-tied and out of place. Here it comes up again… the solitary artist trying to fit in with a group. This happens to me time and time again. Writing is a major part of my art and most of it is done when alone, and yet, to get good stories, I must go out and talk to people. So, why do I crash in front of them?
I arrive home. Look at my other project on the easel, but I was feeling like a loser, so I picked up a book and buried myself in a story telling myself that there is plenty of time.
Yet, time is a factor to consider. I am older now. What if my time runs out and I’ve not finished my projects? If that should be, it will. What is important to me now, is that I work when I am in the mood. What’s important is that I keep working and take time to enjoy every aspect of this journey.

Living the Life of an Artist
Blue jays are making a horrible racket. I counted about 25 of them. I know some people would hate to hear this, but I’d like to shoot a dozen or so. They are annoying and distracting. Today is the start of Cornell University’s Bird Count. I’ve seen 3 cardinals, 5 robins, and a chickadee this morning.
I have a lot to do today, however, and can’t spend all day bird watching. “Heron Dance,” a… I’m not sure what to call it, but I get “Reflections from a Wild Artist” from it every day and today he was talking about the cantankerousness of artists. (www.herondance.org.) There was a quote from John Lennon from an interview he did one time and he mentioned the selfishness of artists.
I can understand that. I often think about and question my selfishness. How selfish am I? And how it is said, “It’s all about me.” I think about my irritation at being interrupted when I need to get my mother something. I can be very bitchy when I am not able to work on my art, especially as one little interruption will throw me off for the whole day. Most of the time, I can’t even stop to eat because once I take a break, I can’t seem to get back to it. Then I get upset with myself and will tend to take it out on others when they try to talk to me.
The life of an artist is very emotional and part of that turmoil goes into every piece we do; no matter what type of art we do. It’s very personal. It’s like we are putting ourselves out there for the world to see and oftentimes, the world cannot understand it and throws it back in our face. We are misunderstood, so artists tend to “act out” and do totally outrageous things.
For me, when I do a charcoal drawing, there is that desire to make something beautiful, to take a photograph and put my own artistic spin on it. I want to share the beauty from a different perspective. Even in the photography work itself, I am attempting to share moments of awe with that child like joy of discovery. I am inspired and excited. So much of what catches my eye is like finding buried treasure. In those moments I am soooo happy. Then I crash when others do not see it as I do, when they cannot understand the joy. When I am that happy, I want to share that feeling and I am disappointed when they don’t get it.
I crawl back in my hole and don’t come out for days.

Living the Life of an Artist
February 17, 2011
Today I am once more thinking about my lack of discipline and it’s a subject I’ve griped about for years. Nan and I went to a gallery yesterday to pick up some of our work because we’ve been unable to get responses from the owners there and if the pieces are not selling, they need to go elsewhere. She thought to bring her list and something to carry her things in. I just showed up. Another artist came in behind us also wanting her things and she brought a plastic tote to put her baskets in.
I am wishy-washy. They demanded their articles and I stood by without saying a word. The woman in the building has nothing to do with the gallery, but there is fear that we are going to lose our art work.
What’s that got to do with discipline? Nothing except that I knew I was going down with the intent to bring my pieces home. Why wasn’t I prepared? Without proper material to protect my pictures, the glass and frames would get scratched, plus I would have to make multiple trips up and down the stairs because most of the work is on the second floor. I suppose I could say that I knew intuitively that I wouldn’t be able to get my stuff, but if that is true, I wasn’t conscious of it.
Back home, I let myself sink into apathy. I let stupid excuses get in the way of doing my work. I wonder if other artists suffer from this. Perhaps their discipline and drive are stronger. The funny thing is, I THINK about the art work all the time. I picture myself standing at the easel finishing the pieces. In one form or another, my mind is almost always thinking about my projects and coming up with ideas for new ones.
This is true for a few days anyway. Then I jump back in with both feet. One thing I have to remember is that because I work on many projects, the steps taken seem small and it takes a longer time to get anything finished. And that’s the truth! THHHHppphhhttt. (For those of you who remember Lily Tomlin’s character, Edith-Ann.)

Living the Life of an Artist
February 16, 2011
I made shepherd’s pie and invited Betty and Nelson to lunch. In cleaning off the dining room table, I put the easel with 3 wip pictures on the floor. They remarked on my progress, we had a great lunch, and after they left, my mother said, “Do you know what I don’t like about your drawings?”
Jeez, I should have known not to face the pictures towards her. Here we go again. She’s got to pick everything apart. I didn’t answer her. It was all so familiar.
“I’m only joking,” she went on after a few moments when I didn’t respond. I did know that in this instance because I also had the photographs from which I was working leaned up on the easel and I knew she was going to reference something about them and her eye sight--- which she did.
But because her initial phrasing was of words I’d heard before coming out of her mouth, I shut down to whatever else she had to say. She has always been this way with me and is perhaps one of the reasons why it took me so long to acknowledge myself as an artist, to feel secure in myself that I don’t need her approval. People often say that you are your own worst critic, but for me, it is my mother. Yes, I do sabotage myself often, but it’s my mother’s voice I hear in my head with the negativity, so I’ve taken to not showing her much of my work until it is finished.
I grew up with the negative critique over riding anything positive. That’s probably why I dislike criticizing anything. It’s a fine line between stating an opinion and supporting an artist. Sometimes one little moment of a bad comment can send an artist reeling from which it might take weeks for her to recover. If you must “find fault,” at least try to throw in what you like about the piece especially in the presence of the artist.
My mother said to me once when we were having one of those “Why do you have to be so negative” conversations that she has a right to her opinions. Yes, you do have a right to your opinion and yes, it’s good to be honest, but it’s also important to be diplomatic. In being honest with your views, is it right to hurt someone’s feelings? Is it okay to always state why you don’t like something instead of saying what qualities the person or piece of art has? My mother, in her need to be honest and have her opinion count, somehow learned to only see the faults or her idea of offering critique was in commenting on what wasn’t good.
Is that the role of a good critic? Is it necessary to strip the artist of her joy at creating something she feels is wonderful? Oh, don’t give me that crap about building good character or that it will make the person try harder. That’s a cop out… most of the time. In my opinion, people who are so negative are really insecure in their own abilities so they lash out at those who accomplish what they are unwilling to do or try.
Not everyone will love the work we do and we should not expect them to. However, we shouldn’t have to duck, either. Maybe I am just a fragile artist and one negative word will send me crashing to the floor. Maybe I am just tired of listening to all the fault finding… and here I am finding fault with those who love being negative.
Critiquing is not about finding the bad things about a piece and we do need to be allowed our points of view, so how can we choose words that will allow us to be honest, yet still be supportive of the art/artist?

Living the Life of an Artist
February 15, 2011
Bright, cold, windy morning and after a restless night (as restless as the wind,) I am feeling stiff and achy. These bones are getting old and tired. I should go out walking, but it’s too darn cold. Instead, I sit with a bowl of oatmeal trying to get motivated to work on my drawings. You’d think from the beauty I can see from this window, that I’d feel more inspired.
A lot of snow melted yesterday in temperatures that reached 50. I’m not looking out through bars of icicles any more. The bird feeders that I’ve not seen in weeks are poking out of the snow, but now the snow looks dirty as it’s covered with limbs and pine needles.
I’m debating my work schedule for today. Minutes need to be typed for last month’s LSSC BOD Meeting. I have the 5 drawings in various stages on the easels here in the dining room. The next step is to bring them downstairs to the basement studio to put them on the big easels so that I can get a better view and finish them up. Two of them are close to being finished and if I get them done today, I’ll be able to take them to the framer tomorrow.
It’s funny the obstacles that come up; obstacles that are often only in the mind, the self-sabotage, the lack of motivation. How to work beyond them is one of my jobs. How to not be distracted by an idea for another project or how to return once I’ve been interrupted… even if it’s just by Freyja who stretches on the table beside and reaches out with one paw to remind me she likes kitty-pats.
It’s time to put finishing touches to a drawing which will be done with electric eraser and a charcoal pencil. I have a hard time keeping the pencils sharp enough to do the little bit of detail work, that just enough to create the illusion of detail. Why do I let that hang me up?

DESCRIBING OURSELVES AS ARTISTS
Nan and I are conversing on art and talking about ourselves as artists. The struggle always seems to be where one fits in with her art. People want to put everything in categories, but what if what you do doesn’t follow the normal parameters of any one category or it doesn’t fall into where others think your work should be? Isn’t part of being an artist following your own inner dictates or listening to that muse?
Nan describes herself as a Photo Realist because her goal is to create a painting that is mathematically precise to the photograph. For years, others have told her that working from a photograph is, in a way, just making a copy of the photo, but for Nan, her entire process to do that painting is, in itself, art. She spent years developing her technique and her paintings are beautiful and life-like. The detail that she puts into every painting is phenomenal and she’ll spend hours with tiny brushes getting every stroke precise.
I think about the beliefs we develop and how, no matter what some people say to us, we still have to do our work in our own way and it often changes and develops new streams.
A few years ago, I took a couple of classes in charcoal landscape drawing. The idea I was taught was to “create the illusion of detail” and I love that concept and took to this art form as if I’d been doing it for years. However, as I develop my own technique, I am also making self discoveries as I explore the works’ processes.
At the end of last year, I got the idea of adding a “hint of color” to give the drawings a boost and with the next two drawings, I tried it out and liked it. With these drawings still not finished, though, I am questioning my processes. I actually like the one least finished better than the one that is just about done.
What does this mean? “Creating the illusion of detail” was what I was taught, but am I trying to put in too much detail? Let me think about this further…
First I recognize that there is always a point where I absolutely hate my drawing. I am tempted to give up and I walk away. Days, sometimes weeks, later, I come back to it. Then I will reach the point where I like it, but it isn’t finished so I keep working and then I don’t like it so much again. I finally reach a point where it is finished and I like it okay. Just okay?
Now I come to the conclusion that I liked it better before I put in more detail. So what does this mean? The word “minimalistic” comes to mind. Would I do better if I fell into that category? I try to think exactly what that means in the art world and I believe that the drawings would not quite be minimalist, that I’d still have more detail than would be described in those terms. Still, if what I am trying to accomplish is the “illusion of detail,” then I need to re-group and stop trying to put in too much detail.
When I stand back from the drawing, less is better. Perhaps my worry is that if people get close to the picture, they will see that detail is blurry. It is that fuzziness that lends the aura of mystical to the drawing. (It also makes it hard to photograph.) The picture looks “cleaner” from a distance and I was once told that pictures are not supposed to be viewed up close. Hmmm…
I have a total of 5 drawings in various stages on the easel boards, two on one board and three on the other. I like working on more than one at a time. When I start getting a frustrated with one, I can work on the others. One of them has quite a bit of detail in it (that one almost finished.) With my new concept, I am eager to get back to work. When these are finished, I will have a better understanding of who I am as a charcoal landscape artist. It’ll be interesting to see where this goes.

Being Our Own Worst Enemy
We are often our own worst enemies and this is played out before me time and again. Lately I’ve let the stress get to me almost to the point of making myself sick. I tell you, though, much of it is my own fault. (Okay, maybe all of it is my fault as I am in charge of my feelings.) I can be as stubborn as I accuse my mother of being. I brag to myself that I have all the tools and that I am “experienced,” but when I am faced with adversity or tough times, I crash and will tend to wallow in my misery.
There are some interesting aspects to this, however. Even when I am in anguish, there’s that part of me that self analyzes. Are there times when I act just like the person whom I have allowed to get to me in the moment? If I have all these “tools,” why am I not pulling them to the fore and being compassionate and peaceful? When I take time to pull back from the emotions, I am actually able to focus on why I am feeling thusly.
Another interesting aspect is that I have to admit that I often will choose the negative behavior around specific topics; my mother, legal stuff dealing with lawyers or real estate, the medical profession, etc. I suppose I could congratulate myself for this ability except that I do nothing to change it. I could… if I chose to.
So, why do I choose to allow myself misery and anger? Does it really have to do with the Buddhist belief that we are here to suffer? The latter is part of it, however, it’s also an excuse not to change or try to change. That means, if I am being honest with myself, I have to look at the first question. Why DO I choose to be miserable?
The biggest reason is because it takes WORK to change and if I am not willing to do the work, the old patterns will keep repeating. Alright, I admit, I am lazy. I don’t practice what I preach, and yet, I totally, one hundred percent believe in what I know.
Perhaps this is part of my evolution. Because I fall into the pit just like everyone else, I certainly will never think I am better than the next person. I know what suffering is because I, too, suffer; maybe not exactly like the next person, but it is suffering. It also makes me vulnerable and sometimes that can be a good thing as I’ve been accused before of not letting anything bother me.
Why do I choose the misery? Do I feel guilty when I am happy when everyone else around me has problems? There’s some truth to this, too, but it also has to do with empathy. I can’t shut the world off all the time and the universe does have ways of… testing one… and I always know when things go well for awhile, there is going to be a downslide. It’s the way of life.
Maybe this is why when I crash, I crash big time and unless someone or something scrapes me off the pavement with a shovel, I wallow in the abyss… for awhile… until it’s over… until it’s time to crawl out again… Then I pick myself up, dust myself off, and go on--- carrying a few more scars… or maybe they’re badges of courage… because I’ve not totally given up…

2010 Photo Walk in WRJ

This past Saturday I participated in my first photo walk, hosted by Lia Rothstein of the Photostop Gallery in White River Junction, Vermont as part of the Third Annual Worldwide Photo Walk. Photographers from many areas of the world were invited to get together to walk and take pictures on the same day. Handouts were given at the sign-in with directions and theme suggestions such as taking pictures of a certain color or shape.

The evening was hot and thunder storms threatened. People came with various equipment; big cameras, little cameras, tripods and extra lenses. Right off the bat, individuals drifted off as attention was grabbed. I was still debating whether to go with a theme or to just find what appealed to me. I was surprised that most didn’t stick with a group as some stopped while others moved on.

I am always intrigued by angles, lines, and windows. Oh, and there’s old buildings and things that are round… and colors… I started looking up the side of buildings and catching clouds in the window reflections. I took shots up ladders and of rows of lights. I captured roof lines and windows.

“Trains,” Gayle said. Oh, yeah, we’ve been working on a train project, so we decided to go to the station arriving in time to get photos of an incoming passenger train. One of the conductors even posed for us after all the passengers were off and as we explored inside the building, the ticket master offered to open the office for us where we oohed and aahhed while taking pictures of the old equipment.

The allotted time was running out and everyone began drifting back towards the gallery where the café next door had reserved spaces for us. It was wonderful to take time to share stories and techniques while showing the pictures taken. I also enjoyed that, like me, some people were also into other art mediums.

The food was good. I ordered a roasted Caesar salad trying to imagine what roasted lettuce would be like and my first impression was that it was “just okay,” but the more I ate, the more I liked. Finally, the association to the flavor hit me--- it reminded me of a marshmallow toasted over a campfire--- and with that memory, the salad became delicious and yes, I’d order it again.

On Sunday, I imported 124 pictures onto the computer. So far, I’ve only edited 28. I’m happy with the outcome and the photos are posted on flickr.com in the groups tab under Third Annual Worldwide Photowalk- White River Junction, Vt. Here also are postings from other participants. It’s awesome to see the differences in what attracted each of us.

The entire experience was a delight. What fun for all kinds of photographers.

AN INTEREST IN TRAINS
Early memories of trains are sketchy. There are vague memories of going to Newburyport to pick up an aunt who would come in on the train from Lynn. I don’t think passenger service went further than Newburyport back in the 60’s, although freight trains were fairly popular. My brother and I learned to count at railroad crossings when my parents asked us to count the cars of the passing train. There were crossings in East Kingston and it was easy to tell, because of the shape of a few buildings and their closeness to the tracks, that at one time, trains stopped here. There were crossings in Exeter and an abandoned train depot was next to the variety store we frequented as high school students. I never walked the tracks, nor did I ever go to a swimming hole where kids jumped from a bridge, although hearing them talk about it sounded exciting. I remember crossing tracks that seemed to go on forever either way when we went to the creek where my dad would dig clams and we’d go down river to fish.
Outside of those incidences, trains were a dull mystery to me. As I grew older, sighting became less frequent and once I was able to drive places myself, I noticed more empty tracks, places where tracks were removed, and building that were once stations falling to ruin. Still, it was years before my interest began to peak and I don’t know what set me off.
“It’s sad about the trains,” became a mantra that made my friends chuckle. Perhaps it was that a way of life was disappearing that matched a sadness in my soul. Maybe it was a growing awareness in the landscape around me. Whatever it was, my interest rose.
I don’t know why, but I fell in love with an old building near the Newfields-Newmarket line (I recently found out it was called Rockingham Station.) I stopped one time to take pictures which surprised me that I would want to photograph something so run-down and dilapidated. There was a deep inner unexplainable sorrow over this piece of history.
And so it went on. I continued the “It’s sad about the trains” statements, but never did any further research. I did, however, go on a couple of scenic train rides on the Conway train and once I took the family on the Cog Railway and a couple of trips out west showed me that other states have more active railroads many of which are massive, many tracked systems.
Recently my interest was again sparked with the chance to enter photographs for a show and now that I am doing more research, I am amazed at what the railroad system once meant to the state and industry. Yes, there is still sadness as the decline in industry meant the decline in rail use and people desiring individual transportation just about put an end to train travel in the state. However, there are active lines in NH, Maine, and Vermont. Amtrak re-opened the lines between Boston and Portland, I don’t think they ever stopped service along the Connecticut River, and there are a few scenic trains running.
I am now on a journey to photograph rails and stations mostly in NH but also across the border into Vermont. Mostly I am fascinated by areas no longer in use. The architecture of the old stations and depots are fascinating. Textures, patterns, and lines in wood, brick, or stone are intriguing. I am pleased to see the Rails to Trails programs touching a piece of history and allowing the public the opportunity to see the beauty of our state and some towns are actually fixing up old buildings to be used as businesses or museums.
The active stations and areas are also amazing. I am pleased to have the opportunity to photograph trains in motion and after the solitude and bit of sadness with abandoned sections, it’s refreshing to witness the activity around the in-use stations.
It’s a big project I am undertaking, but it is bringing me much joy.

June 27, 2010
Searching for Concord Rails
I’d never been down on Commercial Street in Concord, but I’d seen the train tracks from Rte 393. As I needed some supplies at Staples, I figured to take the opportunity to take some photos. I was surprised to find there was more to this section of Concord than I originally thought. As I came down from the highway, I first went to where I could see lots of tracks. Nothing grabbed my attention, so I went the other way past the Courtyard Marriott.
I avoided the new-looking, fancy buildings although I wondered what these structures replaced. Taking a right, I explored the area along Horseshoe Pond. At an intersection was a sign saying, “Discovery Center.” What a minute. I always thought Fort Eddy Road was a dead end. Straight ahead, Commercial Street was a dead end. Hmmm.
I decided to see where that road ended as my goal was train tracks. The road narrowed as I passed through a residential section and on the right were tracks and then an interesting old wooden bridge. The tracks were built up and I was intrigued. The end of the road was Brochu Nursery.
Parking off to the side, I climbed the embankment to the rails. The track ran through the nursery on raised dike-like beds. Seemed funny but I guess it’s because of river flooding. I noticed a trestle in the distance and after taking a couple photos from this vantage point, I decided to ask permission to drive out to the trestle. The man gave his okay then added that over the weekend old trains from Tilton had come down for a show. That would have been interesting.
I drove to the end of the nursery but did not drive up to the trestle as I did not want my vehicle in the way. This was a lovely structure stretching across the Merrimac River. I took quite a few pictures but did not venture out onto the bridge as there were no trespassing signs… plus I didn’t dare.
Leaving the nursery, I decided to take the road towards the Discovery Center. I found that this way meandered through a college campus eventually connecting to Fort Eddy Road. I had learned something new about Concord while taking the opportunity to get some fabulous pictures. It was a happy day.

June 27,2010
Railroad Tracks Near the Hannah Dustin Memorial

Once again I set off. I’d come across some old photos I’d taken at the Hannah Dustin Memorial Site four years ago and as my photography skills are improved and I now use digital, I wanted to take new pictures. The morning was foggy, just the way I like it. I didn’t want to go to Concord, then up 93/4, so I looked at Map Quest for an alternative route and that took me through Warner, up School Street to Pumpkin Hill Road and onto Warner Road, Rte 127 and finally Rte 4. It was nice to see different sights as I’d not been that way.
I made a pit stop at Dunkin Donuts in Boscawen and from there it wasn’t far to the memorial site. The fog had lifted by the time I reached the parking lot. Years back, Rte 4 had been built up to accommodate a better bridge crossing the Merrimac River. The older section was down an embankment. I was struck by the humidity as I got out of the truck. I grabbed the camera and started down the path between cow vetch, yellow hawkweed, and milkweed.. My senses were filled with a wonderful scent. There was an interesting row of cedar trees along the train tracks and a few yards further stood the monument.
I love that I can take lots of pictures and experiment with different angles. I looked up the track and down the track (though I really don’t know which way was which.) Sometimes I walked between the rails and when there was too much overgrowth, I walked a rock-filled path beside the tracks. My goal was the trestle bridge.
This is a beautiful area where the Contoocook River merges with the Merrimac. From the Contoocook came the sounds of rushing water as it tumbled over rocks, but the Merrimac side was very peaceful. Chipmunks and gray squirrels often ran in front of me along the rails or across them. Catbirds serenaded me and behind to the left, traffic on Rte 4 could be heard. A great blue heron searched the shoreline.
I took straight shots, angled shots, and sometimes I bent close to the ground. I studied the angles on the bridge and bolts on the rails. I took pictures of knot holes in the railroad ties and the pond lilies in the river below. A photograph of the old track switch crank was also taken.
The trestle bridge was bit scary to cross. I could see the waters far below between the planks. There wasn’t a railing and one slip or stumble could send me into the depths. I took my time and was extra careful of my footing.
Two tracks split off the main on the other side of the bridge. One disappeared into the overgrowth after a few yards and the other swung out to a blue building which, to me, didn’t look old. That and the fact there was trash around the grounds made me decide not to take pictures. The tracks however were fascinating. Here was another study in angles and curves.
Stories and questions ran through me and I envisioned providing text along with the pictures. I kept reminding myself that the picture must tell its own story. Still, I am always interested in more information.
By this point, I was hot and sticky. I tried to sit down on the rail to get a shot of an interesting tidbit on the ground and promptly fell over backwards. Oops. Good thing no one was around. I finished those pictures and stood up. It was time to head back.
I had taken some pictures of an old factory-type building across the way. I drove back a bit on Rte 4 until I found a road that went in that direction, then a side road that led directly past the old buildings. Perhaps this might have been part of the original Rte 4, but there were also remnants of train tracks going to the place. I stopped and took pictures of windows capturing reflections, caved in sections of the structures, doors, and smoke stacks. Part of this might have been an old tannery. Did I read something about that?
Looking back, I wish I had dared walk around the building to explore further the old rails.
I took side streets heading towards Concord and found myself on the front side of that blue building. Oh, nice. This side looked cleaner than the back side, so I took a picture before heading onward to my next adventure.

I was going through old photo albums today and in looking at the pictures taken back then with 35mm compared to what I do now with digital and the ability to edit my own pictures, I am amazed at how my photography has changed. Oh, I still take a lot of the same kinds of pictures, but I see angles, lines, and textures in a different way. I am more aware of the composition of the picture and I'm not just shooting a scene. I look at the subject from multiple positions.

These past couple of weeks, I've been experimenting with color curves. I still want my pictures to look real; like it was when I first saw the scene, however I've noticed sometimes that in the printing, the colors are not as vibrant. Now I am able to bring that brilliance onto the cards and paper.

I like being more in control of the outcome. It's nice that I can make the choice in how the picture evolves.