Self-improvement

 

Dawn at the Byrne Preserve, Los Altos Hills, CA

What would make me a better photographer? I asked this question of Jerry Dodrill, a treasured mentor, as we settled down for pastry last week after a busy morning photographing on the Sonoma Coast, his home. 

Fog and lichen-covered rock near Goat Rock CA

We talked about lots of things, like risk-taking.  Everyone has their own level of risk tolerance.  Jerry’s is admirably higher than mine.  It does me good to think about hazard. Physical risks, like climbing to that precarious place, can gain a unique perspective.

I can sometimes be lazy.  For example, I might not get out to shoot when I’m tired or would just like to relax.  I sometimes take the shorter hike, potentially missing what’s around the next corner.  I might resist getting out in difficult weather, which is often when the magic happens.  Jerry says that Galen Rowell, who he worked for, emphasized that these are the times when it’s most important to get out there.  I’d be well-served to remember this.

Getting out of my comfort zone, taking creative risks, can create new perspectives of a different kind.  Julia Cameron talks about the willingness to make bad art.  It’s a risk, but a small one, really. What’s the worst thing that can happen? This mindset defeats perfectionism, shifts focus away from results and toward process, and builds a bridge to good art. 

Emotion: Russian River Valley

We also tackled the topic of storytelling.  I often find myself presenting images whose story is primarily “that’s beautiful.”  While there’s value in beauty, I feel driven to strive for more. Why do I do the work and share it with you?  The “why” conversation with myself can engender a perspective change as well. I strive to better present stories of the natural world or of emotion. You know, a thousand words.

We spoke of technical things, valuable but much too dry to detail here. He shared some thoughts about legacy; about what will remain when we’re gone and how to best curate that. My 12-book project was a first step in that direction.  I’m wondering now what’s next. 

The "Fog Machine", Sonoma Coast CA

That very morning, we had roused ourselves in the dark and Jerry took me to witness what he calls the “fog machine,” where the moist air pours down the Russian River Valley and over these hills.  The spectacle in predawn light evoked a rare sense of awe. 

Inspired by an image at the Dodrill Gallery, I crouched at the beach and played with fast shutter speed shooting the shore break foam.  This is a low-return proposition; I came home with several hundred images and liked just a couple.  Oh, and the risk in that was to be so engrossed with the project that I might get swamped by a wave.  Yes, that has happened but not this time. 

Spooner's Cove CA

Landscape photography requires persistence and research, pursuing that lucky light that makes all the work worthwhile. Coastal light is completely different from what we see in the desert.  Marco, Gypsy and I walked to Spooner’s Cove from the Campground at Montaña de Oro State Park, mostly to shake off the cobwebs from a long drive. As this scene developed, I felt grateful to have schlepped the camera gear.

Birds were plentiful and photogenic.

Cloudy and stormy days had me focused on details on the beaches.

The predawn glow affords lovely, subtle light to photograph details.

Out in the Mojave, just a half-day short of home, I put up the drone before dawn at Amboy Crater.  With volcanic rock crunching under my feet in the singular quiet of the desert, I appreciated the dry, clear air after a long visit to the coast.  The full moon setting energized me and showed me a hint of my intrinsic lunatic.

All this photography was blessed with a backdrop of great beer and wine, Dog-friendly beaches, and the company of good friends.

My plan for self-improvement is to keep at this craft mindfully, gratefully accept mentorship, and trust that there will always be things to learn.

There’s more from this trip in the Autumn 2026 Gallery on the website.

Parting shot: Gull at Doran Beach

‘As age comes on, one source of enjoyment after another is closed, but Nature's sources never fail. Like a generous host, she offers here brimming cups in endless variety, served in a grand hall, the sky its ceiling, the mountains its walls, decorated with glorious paintings and enlivened with bands of music ever playing… Fears vanish as soon as one is fairly free in the wilderness.” ~ John Muir

Pushing Back

 

Cliff Castle, Mesa Verde National Park

There are two kinds of fear, the kind we should move away from and the kind we should explore.  My first ever writing workshop was clearly the latter.  I’ve admired Craig Childs’ writing for some time; I’ll read about anything he writes.  So, I had a deep inhale and signed up. 

Cliff Castle, Mesa Verde National Park

I just got back from the three days in and near Mesa Verde National Park.  It was a great learning experience.  Really, I’m a beginner at creative writing. It’s easy to crush a beginner, but Craig managed to give me lots of good feedback which left me excited to write more.

 

We were a lovely group, a safe place for each other.  I laughed when I looked around and saw most of the women wore no makeup.  My tribe.

 

The plan is to intersperse some themes and ideas from the weekend with my responses to the writing prompts (italicized.)

 

Almost 40 years ago I was here at Mesa Verde.  I remember nothing, so I started again.  Braced against the cold wind at 8500 feet elevation, I’m listening to Craig’s voice, paradoxically resonant in the open air, and multiplied by the landforms he points out.  This he does clockwise, like walking with the Buddha, he says.  These are place names familiar from Tony Hillerman Novels of the Four Corners and the Big Rez; Shiprock, Chuskas, Lukachukais, Sleeping Ute.  Legends and stone.

 

Mesa Verde National Park, Ca 1990. That's me on the left.

On that first trip we were allowed to touch and crawl through some of the cliff dwellings.  Here I am with some friends doing just that in 1990. 

Each morning Craig greeted the dawn as the morning sun hit Mesa Verde.  We had a great view from our rental across the valley. He’d play his Shakuhachi flute as we gathered around, hushed. He said later that ceremony was currency to the Ancient Puebloans, and that it remains so. On the first morning, I had no words to describe the magic, and worried that this was an inauspicious way for a beginner to start a writing workshop.

 Raven wings slice through the air and stir the scent of pinon. Music ascends and embraces us. I’m searching for points of connection with the ancient inhabitants of this place.  Slickrock. Heartbreaking blue skies.  Evidence of the universals of human life and hunger. Granaries. Kiva benches. Rock art. Connection.

 Connection.  Archeology sites have always felt distant and abstract to me.  Craig knows a lot about the subject and has a way of helping us find a more personal connection with the people who built these structures.  I consider the metaphor of aspen trees, connected to each other underground. One writing prompt asked us to tell a story about finding something ancient. 

Camped at Triple Alcoves, I pry myself out of a hammock strung between junipers and walk toward the rim of Marble Canyon.   Limestone chips crunch under my boots and the scent of cliff rose arrives on the breeze. I’m distracted by a lone Indian paintbrush bloom, and then again while squatting to photograph it. I see, or maybe sense, a triangle of black and white pottery, tucked under a downed piñon trunk. It could nestle easily in my palm.  I’m stunned by a sense of connection with the woman (because surely, it was a woman) who had made, used, and eventually cursed when she dropped and broke the pot.  Did she carry water in it? Store corn? Did it ride repeatedly on her head? I feel an intense desire to pocket the treasure. Why don’t I? Perhaps because I’m a rules girl, or maybe I’ve mollified myself sufficiently by taking photographs. I replace the gem, pay respects to my 13th century soulmate, and move on.  I know they will both be there when I return. 

Procession Panel, Open Source Image

Craig talks about the ancient, instinctive human need to gather in circles, as we’re doing in modern-day Mancos Colorado. He mentions ancient rock art known as procession panels, which show people carrying burdens, coming from all directions.

Coconino National Forest, AZ.  Mushrooms!

I think quite a bit about the beginner’s mind; the child’s mind.  Craig talks about animism in these ancient cultures.  I’m thinking of the way I sometimes talk to trees, wildflowers, and mushrooms. I can get very enthusiastic about mushrooms. We all did this kind of thing as kids, yes?

Craig made a particularly poignant point about writing, that its creating something from nothing. He says that it pushes back against destruction. That’s a thought worth pondering.

I did this trip in the van (driveway camping in Mancos) and had a few stops before and after.

Coconino National Forest, AZ

The bigtooth maples were turning red in Mogollon Rim Country on the way up. 

San Juan National Forest, CO

With the better part of a day to kill before the workshop started, I explored parts of the San Juan Forest and had conversations with some aspens.

From Moran Point, Grand Canyon National Park

After a harrowing drive in high wind (an RV was blown off the road an on its side) I happily pulled into a “thank god” camp and Grand Canyon’s South Rim. Storm light there was an unexpected bonus.

There’s more on the website in the Autumn 2026 Gallery.